


An Expected Journey

by MarieJacquelyn



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, BOFA Fix-It, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, BotFA Fix-It, Each chapter has individual tags, Eventual Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, General feels, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Thilbo, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, bagginshield, lots and lots of angst, sex death and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 294,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieJacquelyn/pseuds/MarieJacquelyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just wish…”</p><p>“What do you wish?”</p><p>“I wish I could have changed it all.”</p><p>For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right?</p><p>Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Final Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Major Character Death

He dreamed, as he so often did now.

_“Would you have saved them, Bilbo Baggins?”_

The old hobbit, stooped with age and the heavy weight of more than one hundred and thirty years, worried at the edge of the thin shawl that was draped across his shoulders. His clouded eyes could barely see his own hands, let alone the figure that stood beside him, hooded and dressed in brilliant white.

“Of course I would have. I was their friend and I failed them. I failed everyone, including myself.”

He was dreaming. He knew it because he didn’t feel the stutter in his heart any more or the pain in his hands that had begun to develop when he reached one hundred and twenty. It eventually became so bad that he could no longer write, and that had been nearly unbearable. All those letters he could never send, the stories he could never finish – the elves in Rivendell had offered to dictate for him but it hadn’t been the same. Their words were not his own, nor could they understand the heart behind them. It had been then that he had truly begun to feel the heavy hand of time pressing down upon his back. The last few years had seemed like nothing more than the long, regretful wait before the final end.

_“There is no need to carry such painful memories with you. They made their own choices in the end, as did you.”_

“But I could have done so much more! Maybe I could have saved them and then things would have been done properly. A Baggins always does things properly, or at least they should. I just wish…”

_“What do you wish?”_

“I wish I could have changed it all. I was always fond of happy endings and I was disappointed by this one.” He shook his head, frail white curls falling in blind eyes. Fili and Kili lain out under white sheet stained with blood, never to laugh or tease each other again. It had been a mercy that they died together. Blood had bubbled up from Thorin’s lips as he said his final goodbye and followed his nephews into the Halls, where no hobbit could follow. Bilbo saw their bodies often now, whenever he closed his eyes and didn’t have the energy to think of happier times.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder. _“Some things are fated to happen. It is impossible to change everything we wish we could have avoided, even the most painful. Because of you, the Ring of Power was brought to light and eventually destroyed thanks to your nephew, bringing balance and peace to the world once more. Would you have changed what brought peace to so many?”_

“No, I wouldn’t have. But there were so many little things – helping the dwarves, being a better uncle to Frodo – maybe I could have prepared him better for the horrors he would have to endure. I read his account of things after his adventure and I think that he had an even harder time of things than I did. We both lost our hearts somewhere along the road.”

_“You could not have known – “_

“I was a fool of a hobbit and I hid my head in my garden dirt so that I would not see! Don’t tell me that I did everything I could have, because I know for a fact that didn’t! I was too lost in my books and my own grief to care and now I can’t help but think about all of the good I could have done if I had just opened my eyes a little bit wider! I know that I accused my friends of having more than their fair share of stubbornness, but now I realize that I was the most stubborn of them all.”

The old hobbit took a half-step forward and sank to his knees. His heart was fading and he knew, even in this dream, that his time was drawing to a close. “Now I won’t even get to say a proper goodbye to Frodo because I had the bad taste to die in my sleep. The only right thing I ever did in my life was walk out my front door and the worst was to come back again thinking that everything would be as it was before.”

_“You will find peace hereafter. That is the nature of death. The land will welcome you into its arms and you will forget your regret and pain.”_

“Another cowardly act. Now that death has come for me I find that I’m not ready to greet it yet.” Bilbo rubbed at his watery eyes with his sleeve and sniffled wetly. “Why did it have to be this way?”

_“You still wish you could have changed the past?”_

“Every day.”

The figure knelt beside him, enveloping the dying hobbit in robes that smelled like the deep woods and something sweet. Maybe apples. _“There are some things that were not meant to be changed. Certain events may be altered or avoided altogether, but know that no matter what you do or how hard you fight some things will always come to pass.”_

“What does it matter now?” He asked, his heart as heavy as stone in his breast. “No matter how much I may wish to, I can’t go back. I have neither the power nor the life left in me.”

_“Would you have given your own life for theirs? Taken their pain and made it your own to change the course of history?”_

“I would have and I would have done so gladly. So many people suffered and died because of me because I was a fool and a coward. I stood by and did nothing while they fought for what they believed in and now…now they’re dead. I will be soon as well and this will all just be another story in my books.”

 _“Look again. Perhaps you can indeed do more than you thought.”_ The figure waved a hand and the fog cleared. Bilbo gasped as suddenly everything came into focus, brighter and more vivid than he could remember seeing in more than a decade. They hovered above Valinor, the undying lands of the elves. He had taken a ship here in the company of Gandalf and Frodo and the last of the elves of Rivendell. In truth he hadn’t anticipated surviving the journey, but somehow he had stubbornly clung to life long enough to see the haunted look slowly fade from his nephew’s eyes. Frodo had contracted the same illness of the heart and spirit that had dogged Bilbo’s feet – no one had even quite understood and they hadn’t been able to move on.

An ancient hobbit lay in a soft bed below them. His eyes were closed. There was a breeze coming in through the open window that made his thin white curls stir slightly. The sheets lifted with each shallow breath and Bilbo realized that he was looking down at himself and that he was dying. There was a pale cast to his features that showed that he was not much longer for this world. Outside, Frodo sat in the garden the elves had gifted them, a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other.  A smile made his face light up as he turned the page and there was an inner peace about him that helped to settle Bilbo’s fretful heart a little. His nephew would be happy here and maybe with time the pain of his wounds, the ones on his heart especially, would diminish. No doubt he would miss his uncle, but that was such a small thing that it hardly seemed to matter now.

_“Change is a fickle thing. Remember this in your journey, Bilbo Baggins, and perhaps you will be able to alter history after all.”_

The hobbit in the bed took its last breath and was still. Frodo closed his book.

Bilbo Baggins sighed with contentment, the morning sun warm on his face, and opened his eyes to see a very familiar wizard standing in front of him as he sat on the bench in front of Bag End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the madness, Lovely Reader. I hope you enjoy my first fan fiction.
> 
> Here is some music to accompany you on your way - [An Expected Soundtrack.](http://8tracks.com/mariejacquelyn/an-expected-journey/)
> 
> This fic will be a combination of the book and the film, so expect a couple of things to go a bit differently, and not just from Bilbo's meddling. It will also contain graphic violence and smut, so please make sure to secure your own mask before assisting others. I am currently slowly editing the entire thing. Naturally I don't own any of Tolkien's characters or story or Peter Jackson's lovely script.
> 
> Edited Chapter.


	2. A Very Good Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mention of Death

A cough rose up in his throat as Bilbo found himself inhaling a lungful of pipe smoke. It was entirely unexpected and the force of his hacking made him hunch over until it had passed. The pipe itself was set aside until he managed to compose himself, and once he had he looked at it curiously, wiping his eyes on the back of his free hand. If this was the afterlife, he would have much preferred to have the old carved pipe that he had gotten in the markets of Dale rather than the old cracked one he'd had for years before then. The other one had looked like a dragon. But a pipe was a pipe and the tobacco was clearly the kind he had always favored, so it seemed pointless to complain about the little things. Perhaps being dead was going to be much more comfortable and peaceful than he had originally anticipated. He’d expected to go back into the land, but maybe this was better.

The warm morning sun was blocked as a shadow fell over him and Bilbo looked up. 

"Gandalf!" He said in shock, doing his best not to let his mouth hang open too much (since that would have been very rude). "Don't tell me that you've died as well? I thought that wizards lasted forever, or close to it." 

"Died? I should think not! We wizards are quite long lasting. If you're under the impression that you've departed this world you’ve been smoking a bit more than pipe weed. Though I must admit, I'm quite pleased to find that you remember me. I haven't been in this part of the Shire in a number of years." 

The wizard looked as he always had and probably always would. A bit stooped, with tired gray eyes and bushy eyebrows showing out from under the ridge of his pointed hat. Both of his gnarled old hands were wrapped around his staff and it seemed to be the only thing holding the wizard up. Bilbo knew otherwise, though. Gandalf could be as spry as a rabbit in springtime when the situation called for it, leaping and dashing about as easily as a young hobbit. 

"Smoking something - ? Don't be ridiculous, this is just tobacco. How can you be here if wizards are supposed to live forever? Last time I saw you, you were speaking with Elrond in - in - wait a minute, what day is it?" A thought had begun to stir in the depths of his mind - a wonderful, terrible realization.

Gandalf's eyebrows had been steadily inching higher and higher towards the brim of his hat as he listened to Bilbo talk. "It is the twenty fifth Astron, in the year twenty nine forty one, unless I'm very much mistaken. Bilbo, my dear fellow, are you quite alright? You look very pale. How long have you been sitting out here?"

"Not long at all," said Bilbo, waving the last of the pipe smoke away from his face. There was a strange sort of stirring in his gut and he looked down. Brown trousers, ornate yellow vest (it had been one of his Sunday favorites), brass buttons… This was the very same outfit he'd been wearing the day that - that - it couldn't be. There was no magic on earth that could make something like this possible. His eyes widened as he stared up at the perplexed wizard. "Can I help you, Gandalf?" He asked, his voice rough.

"I think that I should be asking you that instead! You look quite unwell, Bilbo Baggins."

"I am better than I've been in more than eighty years," Bilbo snapped. "Now tell me why you are here!" 

Gandalf blinked at him. "I was looking for someone to share in an adventure," he replied slowly.

_Change is a fickle thing._

"That's what I thought," Bilbo managed to reply faintly before darkness closed in and he fainted on the front bench. His pipe broke in half as it hit the walk. 

__________________________________

"Yes I'm quite alright, let me stand up you dratted wizard!"

"You will stay in that chair and sit quietly until I am certain that you won't go off and crack your head again and start spouting nonsense. For a hobbit of fifty you are oddly excitable." Gandalf ducked under the low chandelier, carrying a tray that looked small enough to belong to a dollhouse with him, two cups and a steaming teapot held on it.

"I'm not excitable; I am entirely respectable thank-you-very-much!" Bilbo once again tried to rise from his armchair and was stopped by a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder as a cup of tea was pressed into his hands. "And I do not need tea!"

"I think at this point, my boy, we both need more than just tea." Bilbo watched in astonishment as the wizard produced a silver flask out of his robes and poured something decidedly pungent into both cups.

"Since when do wizards drink spirits?" He sniffed at the cup.

"Since when do ‘respectable’ hobbits claim to be dead when they are clearly doing very well? Did you fall into the river or eat a certain kind of mushroom you had never tried before?"

"I think I know enough about the world not to put strange mushrooms in my mouth, Gandalf. There is something very odd going on and I can't figure out if I truly have died or if this is all only a dream." Bilbo took a hearty mouthful of his doctored tea and found his eyes watering with the power of it. "That's quite strong," he wheezed.

"Which is why I am only sipping mine. Why on earth would you think this was all a dream?" Gandalf's kind eyes were full of concern and worry.

"Because I can't be here right now. I was in Valinor and -"

"How could you have gone to Valinor?" Gandalf interrupted. "That is an isle sacred to the elves, not meant for hobbits at all."

"I went with you and Elrond and Frodo and would you please not interrupt? This is confusing enough as is without having to answer all sorts of questions as well."

Gandalf pulled his own long pipe out of yet another fold in his robes and lit it with a snap of his fingers. It looked like they both needed something to calm their nerves in this stressful situation, in the wizard's case a bit more than spirits. He nodded for Bilbo to continue, though Bilbo could see that he was full of questions up to the top of his hat. 

"I lived until I was one hundred and thirty one. I passed old Took! I spent out the remains of my life in Rivendell and then I sailed to Valinor with the last of the high elves, in your company and the company of my nephew. I was barely there a week and I had the strangest dream. I was dying, you see. I could see myself as if I was a ghost looking from somewhere up high. Frodo was sitting outside and it was a nice, sunny day and there was a bit of a breeze. And there was a person there. They asked if I was satisfied with my life and I said no!"

"Did you now," mused Gandalf, puffing away at his pipe and filling the sitting room with a slightly burned smell. 

"There was so much more I could have done, you see. I wished I could have changed what I did or said, and what happened in the end and then next thing you know I wake up on my own front porch! My hair isn't white anymore!" He tugged on his thick curls firmly enough to yank them down in front of his eyes, regarding the honey-colored mop with something close to awe. "I was more than half blind and I couldn't write or walk properly anymore, and yet here I am, not a single year over fifty!"

"That is quite curious," replied the wizard, looking more than a little troubled. "If you have indeed lived out your live once already then you must be able to tell me why I'm here at all. Just out of idle curiosity, mind you. For the sake of proving your story." 

Bilbo fixed him with a sharp look. "You don't believe me." 

"My dear hobbit, if I came to you and passed out on your front step before claiming that I had lived more than eighty years of the future and then returned from it, don't you think you would question my story just as I am yours?"

There was no way to argue with that sort of logic. Bilbo slumped deeper into his armchair, noticing that none of the feathers had begun to push through the cushions just yet. That wouldn’t start for another five years or so as they grew more threadbare. "Fine," he agreed begrudgingly. "You're here to invite me on an adventure."

"As I told you only an hour ago."

"Yes yes, I know that. You want me to go with a company of thirteen dwarves to reclaim their lost kingdom of Erebor from the dragon Smaug and recover the Arkenstone, the symbol of the line of Durin's divine right to rule. Shall I tell you all thirteen of their names and exactly what they sound like when they snore as well? Because I can, since I heard them often enough as you dragged us through half of Middle Earth. There was Gloin whose son is Gimli and his brother Oin. Bifur who has an ax in his head and Bofur and Bombur, Nori is a thief, Ori likes to knit and Dori worries over him like a mother hen. Dwalin has tattoos on his head and Balin is his brother, and then there are Fili and Kili whose uncle is Thorin and he is the King Under the Mountain. Satisfied?" Bilbo was still a bit flustered and cross. Even saying their names hurt a little bit because it reminded him about how desperately he missed them all. 

Gandalf looked as though he was about to drop his pipe. "Bilbo Baggins, I do believe that this is the first time I have been rendered properly speechless in nearly a century."

"And yet you still manage to talk about being speechless."

"You've somehow managed to turn back the hand of time and relive your entire life over again. There are many folk in this world who would go to great lengths to be granted that sort of gift."

"Yes well, I think I'm almost more proud about your near-speechlessness since I don't think it was anything that I did that caused this. We hobbits aren't exactly known for our time traveling powers." 

Gandalf shook his head and finished his tea in one long swallow. "Nor are wizards for that matter. I may have many powers, but returning folk from the dead is not one of them. You have met with a higher sort of power, Bilbo Baggins, and whatever you did or said to it has clearly caused this."

"There were just so many things I wish I could have done differently," Bilbo leaned forward and rubbed his face, feeling very old despite his younger body. "I could have saved so many people."

"Perhaps that's why you're here. Have you considered that you've been given a second chance to do things properly this time around?" Gandalf jabbed the end of his pipe at Bilbo, wreathing his face in smoke. "Not that I usually support meddling about in matters as important as this, but far be it from me to argue with the workings of those with this kind of power. Clearly there is something that you are meant to do."

 _I can save them_ , thought Bilbo, his eyes going wide behind his palms. _I can make everything right this time and save everyone. I can keep Frodo from ever having to -_  

 _There are some things that were not meant to be changed_ , a little voice reminded him.

"It said that some things can't be changed, Gandalf. What if this is all for nothing and it all just happens the same way all over again?" He looked up at the old wizard. "I don't know if I could bear another lifetime of that sort of torture."

"Torture? It must have been a very difficult life you led, Bilbo." Gandalf leaned forward and settled his hand against the flat of Bilbo's back from where he was settled somewhat awkwardly in the small chair across from him. It was much too small for the over-large wizard, but somehow he managed. 

"Not difficult so much as lonely. But this time things are going to be different." As he said it, a fiery sort of resolve took hold of him and took hold of his heart with an iron grip.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I think they just might be." With that he rose to his feet, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on one the ceiling. "Well, that's settled. I shall inform the others immediately."

"Wait, don't you want me to tell you what happens? With Smaug and Erebor and -" Bilbo jumped to his feet, and narrowly avoided dropping his half full teacup.

"No! No. Don't tell me. I believe that if I knew too much about what was to happen I would be more of a hindrance than a help. I tend to overthink these things, an unfortunate quality of most wizards. Instead I think you should simply do as you see fit and I shall bow down before your foreknowledge in this matter."

Bilbo couldn't help but gape a little bit at the wizard. "B-But what if I need to tell you something important? What if everything goes wrong anyway?"

"Then we shall figure that out when we come to it, not before. Now if you will excuse me, I have thirteen dwarves to send word to that I have found their burglar." He looked down at Bilbo. "And you are a burglar, aren't you, Master Baggins?"

His throat tight, Bilbo nodded. "The best."

"Excellent. Expect me this evening with the rest of the company." Gandalf ducked under a rounded beam, heading for the front door of Bag End with the help of his staff.

"I'll have a glass of red wine waiting," Bilbo called after him and he thought he heard the wizard laugh before the door swung shut behind him.

With a sigh Bilbo sank back into his chair and found that he was trembling from his fingertips all the way down to his toes. They were coming. He was going on the journey to Erebor all over again. 

And his house was in no way prepared to host thirteen hungry dwarves and one wizard.

"I need to make dinner!" He squeaked and leapt to his feet, his anxiety quickly pushed aside by a rush of adrenaline as he dashed into the kitchen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited chapter.


	3. The Care and Feeding of Dwarfs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Food Porn, Mention of Death, Crying

Sausages sizzled over a cheerful hearth that was full to bursting with meat pies with flakey crusts and an entire side of beef that had been carved up into steaks and put onto a cast iron pan swimming with butter. A giant pot bubbled away next to the sausages, packed with vegetables fresh from his garden and tender pieces of lamb in a rich, thick broth. Several cakes and pies and loaves of brown bread already lined the windowsills and more than one hobbit child had been drawn to the open window, asking in high pitched voices if he was having a party and if they could have some pie too. He had sent them away with a bag of peppermint candies and that had been the end of their questions. 

Now he dashed about Bag End, flour smudged on his cheeks and in his hair, digging around for every last pillow and blanket and spare bit of floor he could find. Bag End may have been grand and lavish compared to some of the homes in the Shire, but it was no Brandy Hall which was meant to hold fifty or more guests at once. It would still be a tight squeeze to fit them all in, but at least this time his guests wouldn’t be sleeping on the kitchen benches. That had been a show of bad manners that he wasn't eager to repeat.

Linens were hung out on lines after they were washed with sweet lemon soap and he dragged the hall rugs out of harm's way so that they wouldn't be ruined by muddy boots. This time he was prepared.

A quick bath earlier in the day had left him with clean hair and rosy cheeks and he’d even taken the time to properly brush out the thick hair on the top of his feet. One did one’s best when guests were coming, after all. The whole time he worked Bilbo avoided thinking about how he would react when the Durins showed up on his doorstep. As Gandalf had said before – he would figure that out when he came to it.

A thundering knock sounded through the hole and Bilbo scorched his fingertips on the frying pan as he transferred the sausages to a platter.

"Ouch! Is it that time already?" A quick glance out the little round window showed him that night had indeed fallen. Time had gotten away from him as he rushed about and now he had to play host. 

"Coming!" He called, frantically dusting out his hair as he ran for the front door and pulled it open. Dwalin had his fist raised as if to knock again, but he paused as the green door with the glowing symbol scratched into it was pulled open. 

"Dwalin," the massive, scarred dwarf growled, sketching him a low bow. "At your service."

"Bilbo Baggins at yours!" At least this time he was in his nice coat and trousers rather than his dressing gown. That had hardly been a good first impression. "You're the first to arrive, but just in time for dinner. I expect the others will trail along eventually, but you're free to begin without them. Can I take your cloak?"

Dwalin stood just inside the door and blinked down at the hobbit. From what he had encountered of them, they seemed to be a generally suspicious and unfriendly lot, especially leery of outsiders. This one on the other hand seemed perfectly happy to let him inside and seemed to be of very good cheer as well. 

"Yeah, a’right. Here." The dwarf undid the heavy buckle of his cloak with deft fingers and handed it over to the little hobbit, who carefully took it and hung it on a peg in the hall without letting its edges brush the floor. "You say somethin’ about dinner?"

"I did indeed. I have stew and bread set out on the table already and you're more than welcome to it. I'll bring out the rest as it finishes cooking. Are you at all fond of maple cakes?"

Bilbo felt like he had cheated a bit, since he had found out about Dwalin's love of all things maple while they had been staying with Beorn, but he was not above taking advantage of such things in order to endear himself to the company early on. 

Dwalin followed Bilbo into the dining room he had cleared out to make room for the table and mismatched collection of chairs. "Aye, I am indeed master hobbit. Are you always in the habit of feeding your guests so well? Even ones you have na' met before?"

"Well, I think I'm a bit more open-minded than the rest of the Shire, but we do tend to feed all we come across. A full belly is the sign of a happy home, don't you agree?" He handed Dwalin a ceramic bowl and gestured to him to help himself from the heavy tureen of stew that sat in the middle of the table, bracketed by several loaves of bread that were still hot enough to be steaming. 

The dwarf just grunted in reply and took the bowl, apparently more than happy to replace conversation with a full mouth. While Dwalin settled himself at the table, Bilbo rushed back into the kitchen just in time to pull a platter of baked trout out of his oven and set it on a clear bit of counter to cool for a moment. He had barely let go of it when there came another knock at the door.

“That’ll be Balin,” he said quietly to himself and pushed back his hair in preparation. Unless his memory was failing him he had always got along wonderfully with the elder dwarf, sharing stories and conversation with ease. He had also been one of the few members of the Company to visit him after Erebor had been reclaimed. According to Frodo they had found his tomb in Moria and Bilbo found himself feeling quite ill thinking about it. Many of the company members should have been long dead and yet now here he was letting them into his home one by one like ghosts. 

“Brother!” Came a fond shout from the entry and Bilbo found that he’d been leaning against the curved wall of the hall with one hand balled up in his shirt and that Dwalin had answered the door in his place. Quickly he smoothed his clothes back into place and pushed down his rising distress, trotting forward to pull the door open wider. Dwalin and Balin stood there, hands on each other’s shoulders as they spoke fondly to one another, trading familiar insults that nearly had Bilbo running again so that he wouldn’t break.

“So sorry, I was in the kitchen. Good evening, welcome to Bag End. Bilbo Baggins at your service and your family’s.” Bilbo bowed low to the crimson-clad dwarf and found himself on the receiving end of a friendly smile that was only half hidden by a massive white beard.

“Balin,” replied the dwarf before bowing in return. “At your service. And yes, it is a good evening,” he agreed. “Though I think it might rain later.”

“Does it?” Bilbo leaned out of his door to check the weather for himself. It did indeed look a touch overcast. “I hope it doesn’t decide to. Nobody likes a wet start first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t be so dour, brother,” growled Dwalin as he dragged Balin further into the hobbit hole with a firm grip around his shoulders. “Come have some food and maybe that will better your mood. How was the journey?”

Bilbo watched the two of them disappear back into the house and felt his shoulders sag. This was going to be harder than he had thought. Keeping up a charade of polite interest rather than instant companionship was taking its toll on his nerves and he’d already bitten his tongue once to keep himself from blurting out something absurd. And Fili and Kili would be next if he wasn’t mistaken. Maybe he had time to take a quick smoke in the back before they arrived to settle himself; otherwise Bilbo had no idea how he was going to be able to keep himself from cracking right in half like his pipe had this morning. It was too bad Gandalf had taken his flask with him when he departed – the liquor was sounding more and more appealing. 

It didn’t take long for the next knock to sound on his door, but by then he had managed to get the platter of fish onto the table along with a plate piled high with steaks and a hollowed pumpkin filled with a rich soup. They had all been greeted with delight by the two brothers who were still trading stories about their travels to the Shire and seemed very comfortable right where they were.

“One moment, I’ll just get that and then bring out some honey rolls.” Bilbo made sure his shirt was still tucked in and couldn’t help but smile at Dwalin’s groan of appreciation at the mention of more food yet to come. He had tucked into the meal like a bear that hadn’t eaten since last season.

Luckily Bilbo knew perfectly well about the appetites of dwarfs and still had enough to keep the rest of his guests full until they departed. He’d even gone so far as to borrow a few supplies from Hamfast Gamgee down the way, in trade for a set of silver dining ware as a gift for his wife Bell. It wasn’t as though Bilbo would be using them where he was going, after all. And now the Sackville-Baggins wouldn’t be able to get their paws on the set.

He knew what was important now and the silverware wasn’t.

The two faces at the door nearly broke his heart right then and there. Fili stood there, cocksure and smug as ever, next to Kili who looked as though his brother had goosed him right before the door was pulled open. Knowing Fili, he probably had.

“Fili.”

“Kili.”

“At your service.” The bowed in synch and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if they did it naturally or if they’d had to practice.

“Good evening, Bilbo Baggins at your service,” he said quickly before Kili could start calling him ‘Boggins’ again. That had lasted for weeks and he was positive the young dwarf had done it just to aggravate him towards the end of it. It had only stopped when Dwalin had started cuffing Kili over his head whenever it happened. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll take your cloaks.” He was almost proud that his voice didn’t crack.

The princes seemed to take this as their due and tromped inside, instantly getting mud everywhere. They must have taken a shortcut through the pig pens, mused Bilbo. At least his rugs were safe from their mess this time. Kili had already vanished to check the rest of the place when Bilbo finished hanging up the cloaks and Fili was divesting himself of his blades and knives and laying them carefully on a bare table Bilbo had dragged in for that purpose. Dwalin’s hammer already lay there and it was quickly joined by short swords and more than a dozen small knives.   

“It’s nice, this place,” commented Kili as he appeared out of one of the side halls.

“Yes it is and if your boots are muddy you can take them off by the door,” said Bilbo, a bit more strictly than he had meant to.

Both brothers looked surprised and glanced at each other over Bilbo’s head. Fili gave a small shrug. “You’re the master of the house, Mister Baggins. Kili, shoes.”

A moment later there were two pairs of heavy boots, caked up to the tops in mud, sitting next to the door and cries of greeting from further in the house as the princes joined Dwalin and Balin at the table and drew drinks from the cask of ale that was tucked in the corner.

Bilbo stood next to the door and slowly shut it, staring at the shoes. The last time he had seen them they had been the only things visible of the two brothers, extending out from under a bloodstained sheet that somebody had had the decency to lay over the two corpses. Even in death they had been laid out side by side, their hands touching. Kili’s bow had been cut in two by an orc blade and they had never found Fili’s second short sword. They had been entombed right next to each other, inseparable to the end.

Tears flooded Bilbo’s eyes and he tried to dash them away on his sleeve, only to find that they were falling too hard to properly quench. What a terrible host he was, blubbering all over himself by the front door when there was nothing to cry about yet! He wanted to dash after the two of them and hold them as tightly as he could possibly manage, even though they didn’t know him yet. They had died far too young and never really had a chance to live. This time though he would make sure that they did. This time would be different if he had to take every blow for them.

With his eyes still red rimmed but the tears finally held back, Bilbo yanked open the door again just as Bofur raised his hand to pound on it. The rest of the company stood behind him, crowding in close and looking curiously over his shoulders. It was no wonder they had all fallen in the first time if they had been standing like that.

“Ah, hello there. Bilbo Baggins, at your service. If your boots are muddy please leave them by the door, weapons go on the table, and dinner is right down the hall and on the left. I’ll take your cloaks.”

Gandalf just smiled at him over the heads of the dwarfs and Bilbo gave the wizard a watery smile in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited chapter.


	4. The King and His Burglar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mention of Violence, Mention of Death, Crying

In between being piled high with eight different cloaks and nearly tripping over four more pairs of muddy boots left in the hall, Bilbo quickly found himself shuffled off into a corner by the wave of dwarfs heading for the dining room. There were cries of greeting and shouts and the sound of something breaking as it hit the floor, but the hobbit was more than happy not to be tossed into the thick of things right away. His face was buried in a cloak that smelled like somebody had spilled ink on it at some point, so it was probably Ori's. Ori, he remembered, who had died at Balin's side in Moria.

Luckily his hiccupping gasp was lost in the noise of the party going on in the other room and muffled by the pile of coats. Gandalf heard it anyway, or perhaps he simply noticed that the smallest member in the smial hadn't made a move to join the others.

Whatever the reason, he stayed behind as well, waiting until Bifur and Bofur had trotted off to the kitchen to fetch whatever food was left and bring it to the dining room. Bombur could be heard singing a rather raunchy song about a dwarf woman who had a beard as long as her lover's, but not on her face while Dwalin and Oin roared with laughter.

"Kili is playing the part of the bearded lady and is sitting on your side table with his feet on your mother’s silver serving platter," Gandalf murmured quietly, giving Bilbo a little nudge with his staff. "I would think that being such an upstanding hobbit, you might want to check this behavior."

Bilbo took a halting step forward and nearly dropped the cloaks right onto the muddy floor. "L-Let them do as they please. It's not as though we'll have much cause for mirth or laughter once we're on the road. Not heading off to stock up on fireworks or go to a party, are we?" One after another he hung the coats on the empty pegs on the walls until they were all filled and some held two or even three. But one was still missing. "How can I do this, Gandalf? How can I look at them and - and -" He hid his face in Ori’s cloak again and sniffled into it.

"Is the little hobbit a'right?" Bofur paused as he walked by with a roast chicken in each hand. There wasn’t a plate under either of them, so his gloves would probably smell like chicken for days. Bifur grunted behind him and muttered something in Khuzdul that was probably supposed to sound curious or comforting, but came out (as most things do when spoken in Khuzdul) kind of grumpy, like the dwarf had been gargling rocks.

"Oh aye Bifur, maybe he does need a bit of a drink. Come on then, Mister Baggins, we'll get you a drink and then you can leave off blubberin'. It wasn't a very nice vase anyway."

"What was that about a vase?" Bilbo looked up indignantly, scrunching his nose up and leveling the two dwarfs with a solid glare that he might have bestowed upon a naughty child.

"Well, one of the lads bumped it and it came down, but like I said, it was quite an ugly thing so I don't think you'll miss it much. Here, have this." Bofur traded Bifur one of the chickens for his mug and presented it to Bilbo before the two dwarfs vanished back into the dining room.

Bilbo found himself holding a tankard full of celery stalks and water.

“They’re certainly a lively lot, though I suppose you would know that already wouldn’t you?” Gandalf left his wizard staff and hat leaning in the corner, braced between what looked like Dori’s boots.

Setting the vegetable-laden mug on a table, Bilbo nodded miserably. “Last time they came I didn’t know I was going to be having guests. I didn’t have anything cooked or ready and they raided my larder until there wasn’t a crumb left. Not that there will be this time either, mind you, but at least I had enough time to clean up and cook a few things.” 

Fili ran by, closely pursued by Nori and Gloin, with what looked like a pumpkin pie held up over his head in an effort to keep it away from the other two dwarves. They nearly bowled over Gandalf where he stood and Bilbo got his foot trod on even though he did his best to scramble up onto the side table to get out of their way.

“S’rry Gandalf, Master Hobbit,” grunted Gloin as he made a grab for Fili’s collar and all three vanished the way Bifur and Bofur had gone. The sound of cheers filled the air and there was the sound of more things breaking as Fili made a mad dive over the table to keep away from his pursuers.

Bilbo glanced over at Gandalf and gave him a wry smile. “You should go in before they eat all of the trout with lemon. I left a couple bottles of red wine on the table.”

Gandalf nodded agreeably before following after the dwarfs. Bilbo stayed in the hall, finally alone. It was one thing to pine after his lost friends, but quite another to have them all descend on him at once like some sort of army. It was making his head spin, to be quite honest. “I should bring more tobacco with me this time around so that it doesn’t all get swiped,” he murmured as he pulled out the pipe he had burgled from Gandalf’s pocket moments ago and headed for the front door. A quick smoke would settle him right down and then he would be able to face his guests again before dessert started. Cooking all day and being surrounded by the smell of food had killed any appetite he might have had and the hobbit figured he would probably just keep a plate in the ice chest for snacking on once everyone had gone to –

A little shriek of alarm made its way past his lips and he nearly dropped his second pipe of the day when he saw the figure sitting on his front bench in the darkness. “What on this good green earth…?”

There was the sound of fabric shifting in the dark and a sudden burst of light as the figure struck a match and put it to his pipe. A curl of smoke drifted up and around a mane of dark hair and the brief light illuminated pale eyes and a permanent scowl.

_There was a furious roar as the king fell, pierced by spears and arrows alike. His eyes had been full of a terrible rage that was only quenched when they finally glazed over and he was buried under a swarm of orcs._

Beorn wouldn’t reach him in time to save his life, and he would only be spared enough breath to say goodbye one last time. His kingdom would become Dain’s to rule over and protect in the years to follow and he would be buried with his nephews in a vault deep in the ground. Bilbo hadn’t stayed for the ceremony. Instead he had fled like the coward he was, all the way back to the Shire and lived the rest of his life quietly, knowing part of himself had died on that battlefield and been buried under the mountain too. 

“Thorin,” whispered Bilbo, his grip on Gandalf’s pipe so tight that the wood groaned beneath his fingers.   

If dwarf king was startled it was impossible to tell from his face in the meager light. “It seems you’ve heard of me, Master Hobbit. I’ve not had the pleasure of your name though.” It was a light chastisement that they weren’t exactly on first name terms.

Bilbo nearly ran. In fact he had already taken two steps back towards his front door when Thorin rose from the bench and that movement froze him in place like a rabbit that had been sighted by a wolf. All he could do was stand and tremble, trapped by the emotions that were gripping him by the throat in a stranglehold.

“It wasn’t my intention to scare you. I took advantage of your bench while I was gathering my thoughts.” Thorin nodded at one of the open round windows, which was glowing with candlelight and from which the voices of the rest of the company could be heard as they laughed and ate, not knowing that their leader wasn’t late but instead sat outside while they made merry.

“Your nephews told me about you,” Bilbo lied.

This seemed to placate the dwarf because he nodded and retook his seat, making Bilbo’s front bench look much smaller than it really was. “It’s good that they’ve arrived already, else I would have to go out and look for them in the dark and I wouldn’t relish the task at all. They have a habit of getting into trouble where it shouldn’t be possible to find any.”

“Yes, I know,” Bilbo agreed before he could stop himself.

Thorin quirked a dark brow at him and took a short pull on his pipe, letting the smoke drift out of his nose. No wonder his beard had always smelled of pipe smoke. “Have they already been causing you problems, Master Hobbit?”

“No no, not at all,” Bilbo hastily backpedaled. There was no way to say that he’d learned this through persona experience during the months he’d spent in their company when he had only know the brothers a sum total of an hour or two in this lifetime. “They just seem like the type. Full of energy and…life,” he finished lamely.

This seemed to be an acceptable enough answer, because Thorin simply shrugged as if he had realized this a long time ago. “They’re good lads when it comes down to it. So.” Bilbo trembled internally when those blue eyes fixed on him again. “You’re to be our burglar.”

“That’s what Gandalf has told me, and I don’t much like to argue with him.”

_‘He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.’_

“You don’t look much like a burglar.”

 _Come on Bilbo,_ the hobbit silently chided himself, _you went on an adventure. You escaped from Mirkwood and fought orcs. Killed spiders bigger than ponies. You faced down a dragon. You can face down him too._

“What are burglars supposed to look like?” He asked, feeling brave enough that he went over sit next to Thorin and lit his own pipe.

That seemed to stump the dwarf for a minute, because he puffed away on his pipe for at least a minute before reluctantly answering, “Not like you.”

Bilbo snorted and the hot smoke burned the inside of his nose. “So I’ll get a haircut before we leave in the morning, shall I?” He didn’t see the dark look that was leveled at him, but he could feel it enough that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You’ve decided to join us?” Thorin blew a smoke ring that Bilbo couldn’t help but notice was a bit ragged around the edges, as if he hadn’t practiced enough to make a properly good one.

“Haven’t made up my mind yet.” Another lie. He was getting quite good at telling them. His own very lovely smoke ring zipped right through the middle of Thorin’s and kept going into the night. The dwarf made a small grunt that might have been appreciation. Of course it could have just as easily been irritation – sometimes it was hard to tell.

“Are you afraid, Master Hobbit?”

“I think only a fool wouldn’t be afraid, King Under the Mountain.”

“You are wiser than half of my company at least. Perhaps it will keep you alive if you decide to join us. Have you any experience at burglaring?”

The dwarf smelled of the road and the sweetness of tobacco.

“A bit, though not recently. The Shire tends to frown when you try to swipe somebody’s silver.” He smiled as he thought about how angry Lobelia had been when he had come back to reclaim his belongings and caught her making off with his spoons in her dress pockets. Hobbits in general weren’t very good at deception – it simply wasn’t in their nature. Then again, most hobbits hadn’t learned how to be quick and quiet the hard way like he had. The only dragons or trolls in Hobbiton were the ones in stories.

“We’ll be swiping more than silver, Master Hobbit. Be sure that you’re prepared for that before you agree to our journey. I suggest you return the wizard’s pipe before he notices its absence.” Thorin rose and tapped the burned out tobacco out of his pipe before turning towards the door as he prepared to go inside and face the rest of his company.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why were you sitting out here instead of going straight in?”

Thorin looked back at him with a grim expression. “If you had to tell your oldest friends that no help would be coming from their homelands, you would wait a while as well, Master Hobbit. I have many things to think about and am not eager to interrupt their mirth with bad news. Now if you’ll excuse me.” With a short nod, the king pushed open the green door and walked inside. The faint tune of ‘blunt the knives’ drifted out before it was cut off as it swung shut again and Bilbo was left alone with the lingering scent of smoke.

 _That went better than expected_ , he mused as he set Gandalf’s pipe down on the bench next to him.

Then Bilbo Baggins put his face into his hands and sobbed with what felt like the weight of the world slowly pushing him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo, stop crying right now. You have guests to take care of and adventures to go on, so stop being such a baby about it.  
> Edited chapter.


	5. The Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

_“They will not come.”_

The slow words were enough to silence the entire company. Ori looked down at his mittens while Dori patted his hand. Gloin looked as though the veins in his temple was about to explode and Dwalin just stewed in silent fury.

Cowards. The word, though unspoken, seemed to be at the forefront of all of their minds, including Bilbo’s. Where had the dwarves of the Iron Hills been when Smaug had attacked them there on the hillside? Dain had sat comfortably in his own mountain and let them fend for themselves under the guise that it was their quest alone. No aid had been sent from any quarter and Bilbo felt a slow burn of resentment build in him as he gathered up a couple of candles to better light the dining room where everyone had gathered. Instead he had only appeared with his army when there had been a danger of losing the dragon’s treasure and then claimed a throne he had not earned. A king perhaps, but not the one that Erebor had deserved to have on her throne - a carrion crow with a crown.

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more- ah, thank you very much.” Gandalf took the offered candlestick and set it on the table as he pulled a piece of paper out of yet another one of his seemingly unending pockets. Bilbo wondered if perhaps his entire cloak was simply one never-ending pocket and contained all manner of useful wizarding things. When he leaned over, the hobbit casually slipped his pipe back into one of them and then went over to the little stool someone had set in a corner and settled himself on it with a biscuit. Thorin had a bowl of soup and a plate of fish and bread at his elbow, though he didn’t seem overly interested in either one. Perhaps the news he carried with him had made him lose his appetite, which Bilbo thought was a shame since it was to be the last decent meal they would have for a while (excluding breakfast tomorrow morning).

“Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, through woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

The map was old, tattered at the edges and stained at the corners. Bilbo didn’t need to be able to see it from where he sat, he remembered it perfectly. Age had dulled some of his memories, turning them into things that seemed like dreams sometimes. Birthday parties, long walks, and even some of the important things had been lost to him, running away like painted colors in the rain. Although he felt sharp and young again, they remained stubbornly out of reach. Another life. Another time. He could only pray that he had held onto enough to see everyone safely through this time. If they failed because of him…there would be no rest for him in life, or in any afterlife that followed.

“The lonely mountain,” he whispered to himself, nibbling on a corner of the biscuit even though he wasn’t hungry.

Gloin spoke up from the other end of the table, his voice rumbling like a great drum (although it was a bit watery for all of the ale he’d quaffed with dinner). Ravens were returning to the mountain. As far as signs went, it wasn’t one that Bilbo would have held a candle to on an ordinary day. But this was hardly an ordinary day. In fact, as far as day went, this one was turning out to be quite extraordinary. He wondered what Oin would make of it, what sort of signs he’d see in the dead living again and a hobbit who had returned from the bitter end. No doubt he’d proclaim the entire venture doomed and refuse to have a thing to do with any of them. Bilbo smiled a bit and looked down at his hands while he tried to school his features back into seriousness. This was hardly the time for grave humor.

“- the reign of the beast will end.”

Were they already at this part? Bilbo sniffed loudly and looked up. “The dragon?”

“Oh yeah, Smaug the Terrible,” chimed in Bofur, who probably thought he was being helpful. “Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age.”

Everyone but Fili and Kili looked grim, but the brothers were too young to properly understand what a foe the rest of the dwarves saw in Smaug. Bilbo couldn’t help but envy them for their innocence; for all that it would be lost soon enough.

“Air-borne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals…”

Oh yes, he certainly had been. Smuag had lain on the loot of Ereborn like a king on a bed of fine silks. It had been a golden bath for him. Coins and jewels had poured off of him in rivers with every breath and boiled like the sea when he stirred. The entire place had stunk of fire and ash and the sharp tang of metal. Bilbo had hated it. The taste of it had lingered in the back of his throat for days and made him feel dirty, even on the inside.

And as for Smaug himself…Bilbo had thought he’d been afraid when faced with goblins in the caves. When he dueled with Gollum deep underground he’d been petrified. Orcs and elves and eagles alike had terrified him. But Smaug…he had been the worst. Even with the ring of invisibility on, Bilbo had only been able to stand and shake, frozen down to his soul when the dragon’s eye had swept over him. Such raw power he had never witnessed before and prayed to never have to ever again. It seemed that fate was having fun tormenting him if it would think to send him back to that monster’s terrible claws again. Would he be able to muster up the courage to do what needed to be done? Only time would tell.

The sound of a row broke him from his thoughts once more and he was happy to banish the memory of that terrible reptilian eye fixing on him.    

“ _Shazara_!” Roared Thorin, nearly upsetting his bowl right onto Bofur’s lap as he rose, looking furious. Bilbo had never had a chance to learn any Khuzdul besides a few filthy words Fili and Kili had taught him when their uncle hadn’t been around, so all could do was assume this meant something along the lines of ‘sit down and shut up’, because that’s exactly what everyone did. Even Gandalf looked slightly taken aback. Dwalin could roar just as fiercely, but he’d never had the same sort of commanding presence as Thorin. When a warrior shouted he was simply being loud. When a king shouted people took note.

“If we have read these signs do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen in sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk.”

Bilbo found himself leaning back against the slightly curved wall behind him, lacing his fingers together across his stomach and wishing that he hadn’t given back Gandalf’s pipe so quickly. He could have done with another smoke, but that wasn’t likely to happen just yet. He jumped when there was a sharp poke in his soft side and looked up to see Bifur offering him a rather crudely carved pipe with an inquisitive expression.

“Oh, thank you Bifur.” He nodded his head in case the dwarf with the ax in his head hadn’t understood him properly. It had always been a mystery to him exactly how much Bifur understood about what was being said to him. He only spoke Khudzul, but did he understand common? He had never bothered to ask, but Bofur might know. Bilbo made a mental note to ask the other dwarf about it when he had the chance. The tobacco it was stuffed with was a harsh, acrid sort, not at all sweet like his usual Old Toby. But it was better than nothing and helped to clear the fog from his head a little bit. All day he’d been running about in a daze, still half expecting to wake up at any moment and find himself back in his bed in Valinor, half blind and dying by inches. Each moment in this company was helping him to ground himself again, but it was a slow process. Every word he said had to be weighed so that he wouldn’t give himself away without meaning to.

“I should make a list,” he murmured to himself as he watched Gandalf hand over a familiar key. Bifur took his pipe back when it was offered and Bilbo smiled at him in thanks. The dwarf just grunted.  

“The task I have in mind will require stealth and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I think it can be done.”

“That’s why we need a burglar!” Piped up Ori, looking stunned at his own brilliance. Fili and Kili both gave him admiring looks for having come to this conclusion. Bilbo just shook his head, unknowingly mirroring Balin who was doing the same thing. They were brave and had good hearts, but no one could say that the three young dwarves had an overabundance of brains to share between them. At least now he could technically say that he was older than they were, since he’d managed to live to the ripe age of one hundred and thirty one. It didn’t really matter here, but at least it made him feel a bit better about being stuck at fifty again.

He didn’t notice that everybody was looking at him until Gandalf spoke. “Hence why I have brought you all to the excellent home of Mister Baggins, whose larder you have all been depleting. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of your company and I have done so.”

“And do you have any experience burglar, Master Hobbit?” Asked Gloin, leaning forward on the table, his eyes serious. The rest of the company was watching him, even Gandalf, and Bilbo suddenly felt profoundly uncomfortable.

“A bit,” he answered. “I’m hardly what you would call an expert though.”

“Did he say he was an expert?” Called Oin from the other side of the room.

“No, I just said – look – fine yes, I’m an expert. I’m just a bit out of practice.”

“A single mistake can be the matter between life and death in the wilds, laddie. It’s hardly a place for gentlefolk such as yerself,” drawled Dwalin, who was clearly doubtful of his so called burglaring abilities. Bilbo could hardly blame him. He knew what he looked like. Soft. Comfortable. No scars or tattoos marred his body. In fact, in this life he had never stolen a thing in his life with exception of the virtue of a couple of pretty hobbit lasses and some produce from his gran’s garden. But it wasn’t the act so much as the will to do what needed to be done, or so he’d found out along the way.

“I can fight a bit,” he told Dwalin. “I’m not completely helpless. And I’m sure that I could burgle you all blind without you having noticed a thing. We hobbits can be light on our feet when the mood strikes us.”

“Is that so?” Asked Dwalin, his brow furrowed.

Bilbo just tossed him back the coin purse that had been attached to the dwarf’s belt when he first arrived.

For a moment there was complete silence as everyone looked at the purse. Then there was a roar of laughter and quite a lot of back pounding as several members choked on their ale. Bilbo just smiled to himself and flexed his fingers. It felt good to be useful, or at least perceived as somewhat. When he looked back up Thorin was giving him an appraising look.

“It seems Bilbo has more to offer than anyone expected, including myself,” said Gandalf as he patted down his robes. “Goodness me, where has my pipe gotten off to?”

“Try your left pocket,” answered Thorin.

“Ah, there it is, thank you. How did it get in there?”

Rather than answering, Thorin turned in his chair to look at Balin, who for once didn’t look like he’d been sucking on a lemon for the last hour. “Give him the contract.”

Balin pulled a sheaf of thick folded parchment out of his pocket and handed it across the table. Bilbo had to stand up to reach it. “It’s just the usual,” the old dwarf told him. Bilbo automatically reached for his front pocket where he’d kept a pair of spectacles when his eyes had begun to fail him, but found none there. Right, he was perfectly healthy here. “Summary of out-of-pocket expenses,” continued Balin as he sat back down. “Time required, funeral arrangements, so forth…”

“Right then.” The contract fell nearly to his ankles when he unfolded it. Funerals. Hopefully that would be something that he could avoid this time around. Watching his friends and the folk he had come to care for so strongly fall in battle wasn’t an experience he ever wanted to witness again. And hopefully wouldn’t have to if he could change things.

He skimmed the paper, not really caring about the words beyond wondering how they’d been able to convince folk like Dori to sign something like this. Of course, he was probably only along to keep an eye on Nori and Ori who seemed much more liable to get themselves into some sort of sticky mess along the way.

“Seems reasonable enough,” he finally admitted. “I’ll fetch a quill.”

Once the hobbit had trotted off into the depths of his twisting house, Thorin turned back to Gandalf. “He seems like a steady enough sort. For a hobbit.” The rest of the company had gone back to talking amongst themselves while polishing off the last of the biscuits.

“I think he may yet surprise you, Thorin Oakenshield. There is much more to Bilbo Baggins than meets the eyes – I can say that with complete certainty.”

“And I don’t suppose you’re going to enlighten me to what makes him so special?”

Gandalf just smiled.

“I don’t like secrets, wizard,” the king growled, his hands clenching into fists. There was something different about their burglar and whatever it was set him on edge. Maybe it was the little looks he kept catching whenever Bilbo looked up through his mop of curls with eyes that seemed too old and sad to belong to someone like him.

“You must trust me on this,” the wizard replied softly and that seemed to be the end of that as far as Gandalf was concerned, because he leaned back in his chair and began to eat the last biscuit, his eyes twinkling with merriment. Thorin wanted to continue to press him, but the hobbit reappeared at that moment, one hand holding a platter of little cakes and the other the parchment. There was a fresh signature at the bottom in wet black ink.

“I don’t suppose anyone has room for dessert?”

The cheer that went up was answer enough.

…

Much later that evening, the dwarves all gathered in the sitting room. Several belts had been loosened thanks to the hobbit’s good cooking and one too many peach turnovers. Thorin licked a bit of dark chocolate off his thumb and followed Dwalin in. There was a fire crackling in the hearth and he pulled out his pipe as he went to stand by it. Most of the others had pulled the dining room chairs in so that there was enough room for everyone. Nori was standing at the window, looking out into the night while Bombur sighed with good cheer from a seat against the wall. Fili and Kili were splitting a cookie in half, smiling and whispering to each other with their noses brushing.

At first he thought that their burglar had decided not to join them, but a second look showed a small figure curled up in the bedroom joining the sitting room. The hobbit had pulled out a little padded bench that wouldn’t have held any of them and settled himself on it, watching them all from the shadows with a quiet sort of expectancy that Thorin couldn’t understand. Gandalf sat nearby too, since he was much too large to fit in the room with thirteen dwarves.     

“Are you going to regale us with a song, Master Burglar?” Thorin asked, hoping that would jerk the hobbit out of his reverie.

Bilbo tensed for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t want to instead? I’m sure you’re much better than I am.”

“Quite sure,” Thorin replied with a small smirk. The night was a time for songs after all. Besides, it would be a good laugh if their burglar couldn’t carry a tune.

Bilbo chewed on his lip for a minute. He’d been looking forward to listening to the dwarves sing again, but apparently his attention had been noticed and now he was stuck in this predicament. He wasn’t a bard by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t terrible either. “Alright, but if you could sing one after mine I would be grateful. I have a great fondness for dwarven song and music.”

“Then you have good taste, Master Baggins.” Nori turned away from the window and went to sit next to Ori, wrapping his arm around the younger’s shoulders. Ori just smiled.

Quickly Bilbo wracked his mind for something that he could sing that he wouldn’t mangle too badly. The little song he’d heard last time he’d been at the tavern in Bree came to mind and he cleared his throat, praying that he remembered all of the lines.  

 

_“Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,_

_Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;_

_My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,_

_Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream._

 

Rather than looking into the fire as he sang, Bilbo looked out of his little window, keeping his eyes purposefully away from the company even though he could feel their on him. Nobody spoke when he finished, not even their notoriously nosy wizard and Bilbo quickly grew uncomfortable.

“I have blankets and cushions for everyone when you decide to turn in. I’ve moved your things to the spare rooms, so it shouldn’t be hard to find them. I’m – ah – I’m going to turn in. Early morning after all.” He quickly got off of his bench and raised a hand at the dwarves as he backed away. “Good night!”

And with that he scampered back to the kitchen. The smell of pies and fish and stew still hung heavy in the air. There was a single pillow and blanket set up in the corner and he sagged onto them, completely exhausted, almost too much to bother with weeping. His head had begun to throb painfully, but he wasn’t sure if it was just from the work he’d done or the stress of having to readjust to this new-old life. He sniffed wetly and rubbed between his eyes with his palm, trying to make the tightness fade enough to let him sleep.

From down the hall there came a deep rumbling, like thunder in the distance before the storm broke.

_“Far o’er the Misty Mountains cold…”_

And Bilbo discovered that he wasn’t too tired to cry just a little bit more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is 'Sweet Afton' originally penned by Robert Burns, if anybody is interested. I listen to the version performed by Nickel Creek. Cheers!


	6. Pocket-Hankerchiefs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

Bilbo awoke the next morning before the sun had risen with a stuffy head and aches in his lower back and knees from sleeping on the floor. Maybe he could have found another cushion or blanket to pad the tile a bit more, but the dwarves had already been sleeping on the ground for who knew how long on their way here. He couldn’t begrudge them whatever comforts his hole had to spare, including all of his pillows. Even the embroidered ones.

The first thing he did was sneak into his library and snatch up a piece of loose parchment and a quill along with his nice inkpot. Balin and Dwalin were both sleeping in his twin armchairs, doing their best to out-snore each other. Dwalin’s were deep and nearly made the glass bottles on Bilbo’s shelf dance in place. Balin was a bit quieter, but he also made piercing whistling noises that Dwalin couldn’t hope to match. Between the two of them they could have kept the whole Shire awake all night. Luckily dwarves and hobbits were equally heavy sleepers, so he doubted anyone had so much as batted an eyelash at the noise.

All the same, Balin cracked open an eye at him from over the top of the green blanket he was burrowed under as Bilbo tried to slip back out again.

“You a’right laddie?”

Bilbo nearly spilled his inkpot all over the rug but managed to catch it at the last moment and only ended up with a couple drops on his hands. “Yes!” He whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to wake up Dwalin as well. “Just making a list and writing a couple of notes before I start packing. What to do with my house and…things,” he finished lamely as he backed towards the door. “I’ll start breakfast in a little while and then we can be on our way!”

There was no reply. Balin had already gone back to sleep, his whistling snore joining with his brother’s. Bilbo shook his head had made his careful, quiet way back to the kitchen. Coals still burned low in the stove and kept the chill of the early morning out of the room. Even though it was summer the nights could get chilly for those without a proper blanket. It sank into the ground – the same way that caves stayed cool made hobbit holes the same way. While it could be downright blissful during the hot days of summer it could also make it a bit less comfortable during the cooler nights.

He shivered as he added a couple pieces of wood to the stove and stirred up the coals with a poker so that the fire sprang back to life. The faintest hints of pink and yellow were beginning to appear over the rolling fields and he knew that it wouldn’t be much longer before the entire house started to stir. Dwarves weren’t early risers as a rule, but last time they had managed to slip away without waking him even once. Surely this time they would at least have time for breakfast before they set out so that he wouldn’t have to listen to his stomach complain for the first half day about missing breakfast. And second breakfast. And elevensies. It hadn’t been a perfect start by any stretch of the imagination, especially since he had left his lovely pocket handkerchiefs in his bedside table.

Well not this time. Sinking into a chair, Bilbo set the writing materials down in front of him and gave them a stern look. Then with a flourish he dipped his lovely raven quill into the ink and began to make his list.

 _‘Strictly Required’_ said the first title. _‘Not Necessarily Necessary’_ said the second, and the third read _‘Avoid At All Costs’._ Bilbo chewed on his lip and hoped that he remembered all of the important parts that needed to be included in this part. “Find troll hoard and get swords,” he murmured as he wrote that same thing underneath the ‘strictly required’ category. ‘Fight trolls’ went into ‘Not Necessarily Necessary’ while ‘Get Chased by Orcs’ went into ‘Avoid At All Costs’. This went on for nearly an hour, with things being scratched out and rearranged as Bilbo remembered the little parts of his adventure from last time and wrote them down so that he would not forget. Maybe keeping this list would help him when the time came to counteract the ‘Avoid At All Costs’ part. The included getting captured by goblins, though he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to manage to do that and still get the ring, which fell under ‘Strictly Required’.

And down at the very bottom, in very neat handwriting, read ‘Let the Durins die’. The last and most terrible part of the entire undertaking. This time it wouldn’t come true, even if he had to tie them up and leave all of the dwarves in the dungeons of Mirkwood to keep them safe. There would be no funeral arrangements for this company if he had anything to say about it.

“Writing your will, Master Baggins?” Asked a voice behind him and Bilbo’s arm jerked, smudging the last sentence until it was nearly illegible. Thorin stood in the doorway and Bilbo felt something in him give a painful lurch. No doubt it was just his stomach demanding breakfast since there was no other reason that anything else should be doing anything that remotely resembled lurching.

“Will? No! Dear me, no. Just…making a list. Letters and whatnot. But I’m quite finished so I should start on breakfast instead of wasting time here. I haven’t even had time to pack yet.” Bilbo hurriedly pushed himself away from the table (after covering up his list with a stack of mail that lay on the table) and trotted over to the stove to see if it was hot enough to cook on yet. Luckily it was, so the hobbit began to grab out the food that he had hidden so that there would be enough for breakfast. Feeding dwarves wasn’t the easiest thing in the world and they had gone through everything he had put on the table as well as a couple of things he hadn’t. Luckily it didn’t seem as though they’d found the breakfast supplies, so Bilbo quickly got to mixing eggs and milk in a large bowl along with a heavy helping of cinnamon, all the while very aware of Thorin’s critical eyes.

The king was dressed in trousers and a loose blue shirt. His heavy furred boots were missing, no doubt somewhere in the pile by the door that had doubled in size overnight. It was almost odd, thought Bilbo, as he glanced back at Thorin over his shoulder as he pulled out a couple of loaves of bread and began to thickly slice them. There were no bruises or cuts on his face yet, nor did he move as if every step seemed to cause him pain as he had done once. It was funny that he would remember that, but it had seemed such an intimate thing, seeing that vulnerability. It had stayed with him for a long time after he had returned to the Shire, all of those little moments that he had clung to like wisps of smoke. Eventually some had slipped through his fingers, but others he had clung to as fiercely as if they had been his own children. Memories of long nights by the fire, songs, laughter, cries of rage and pain in the midst of battle.

“We did not intend to stay for breakfast,” said Thorin, picking up a piece of Bilbo’s mail and skimming it. Something about a cookbook somebody wanted to borrow and a garden show coming up in the next fortnight. The piece of parchment caught his eyes, but the only part he could see was the line that said ‘Strictly Required’, so he let it be.

“I’m sure whatever I make will be better than what you can eat on the back of a pony.” Bilbo replied a little bit sharply as he dropped a couple of pieces of the bread into the egg mixture and flipped them over. Instantly he felt bad for having a short temper – it was only partially Thorin’s fault that he hadn’t slept well.  A combination of a cold floor and dreams about blue eyes had given him a shorter temper than he might have had otherwise and he didn’t need to start off on the wrong foot with the company’s leader right away. The first time he had been looked down upon for being useless. He didn’t need to be in the same situation because he couldn’t keep a civil tongue in his head. After all, he wasn’t a sharp-tongued hobbit of one hundred and thirty one anymore. If he kept the same attitude he had developed he would quickly overstep himself.

“Sorry, I just thought it might be a nice thing to do for everyone. I don’t know how long you traveled to get here and I’m sure one more good meal can’t hurt anything. I was up early so that we could be on our way on time, even with a bit of extra food in us.” The bread went onto the hot stove top and instantly started sizzling cheerfully as the egg and cinnamon cooked into it.

Thorin opened his mouth as if to reply, but at that moment something that greatly resembled a ginger bear came into the kitchen. “Did someone say food?”

Bilbo guessed it was probably Gloin judging by the accent, and because he was closely followed by a yawning Oin. Neither of them seemed any the worse for wear after their night of eating and drinking which was fortunate. Riding a pony with a hangover would probably be a thoroughly unpleasant experience.

“Mister Baggins sir, do you have any tea?” Ori and Dori came in next and both of them hand an arm supporting a very unhappy Nori, who looked like he’d been run over by a cow sometime during the night. His elaborate hair had come halfway down and his eyes were bloodshot and heavily shadowed. “I’m afraid my brother had a bit too much to drink last night.”

Thorin and Glojn both roared with laughter, which made poor Nori gasp and turn white as he struggled to cover his ears and stop the noise. Finally the sun made an appearance over the hills and spilled into the kitchen which was growing steadily more crowded as the dwarves settled themselves at his little kitchen table. Oin had found the kettle and had filled it with water.

“There’s some herbs in a red tin in that cabinet,” Bilbo said a bit more loudly than necessary so the half-deaf dwarf would be able to hear him, gesturing to one of the top cabinets. “I use them for just these occasions.”

“Do you often find yourself indulging in too much drink, Master Baggins?” Asked Thorin, who was still reading his mail.

“No, but we hobbits are fond of parties and more than once I’ve had my guests complaining of the same sort of morning sickness. I learned which herbs help to mellow it from the Gamgees, all of whom are excellent gardeners and have an excellent knowledge of herbs and remedies.”

He’d actually spent most of a summer and autumn with the family, following them around while they tended to their farms and gardens. He’d written a book about it, jotting down all manner of notes about growing things and harvesting them, and how to dry rosemary properly and what sort of herbs could be used to treat infections or clot blood. It had been an interesting experience to say the least and he’d come away from it feeling like a much wiser hobbit.

A much wiser hobbit with a tea for hangovers.

Over the next hour most of the other dwarves found their way to the kitchen where they were presented with fresh fruit and toasted egg bread with cinnamon, along with piles of scrambled eggs and a blackberry cobbler that Thorin swiftly declared as his own and wouldn’t let anybody else touch, so they had to be content with apple turnovers instead. Bilbo was just glad that his pile of mail was left alone and carefully retrieved his list out from under the letters before it could be lost or forgotten.

Nori wasn’t the only casualty of the night of revelry. Gandalf come wobbling in looking a few years older than he had the night before and declared Bilbo a living miracle when he was handed his own cup of tea. Clearly the wizard couldn’t hold his wine as well as he thought. Bifur took a glass as well, but it was unclear if he actually had a hangover or just liked the taste of the pungent steeped herbs.

Of Fili and Kili there was no sign, so Bilbo ran off to wake them before they missed breakfast entirely.

Sometime during the night Kili had managed to crawl into Fili’s bed, leaving a trail of socks and sleeping trousers on the floor behind him, and the two brothers were wrapped around each other like puppies in a basket that was slightly too small for them. Kili had stolen most of the sheets and Fili’s legs were hanging over the foot of the bed. At least he’d managed to hang onto his pillow from the looks of things, but it was hard to tell through the tangle of sheets and hairy limbs. Bilbo sighed, almost tempted to let them sleep some more. But he knew that the brothers tended to end up sleeping together no matter where they laid their heads, so this wasn’t any different than countless other nights. The other dwarfs would laugh and shake their heads and tell them to stop leaving their clothes spread out all over the camp, so apparently this was nothing new or morally questionable to them.

The hobbit picked up Fili’s shirt and laid it over the foot of the bed where it wouldn’t be stepped on and then reached over to rub at the dwarf’s blonde mane. His hair was soft and warm. “Fili. Fili, wake up - there’s breakfast.”

The older dwarf mumbled something and pulled his pillow over his head.

“Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it I guess I’ll just let Bombur have your portions. Too bad though, since there were a couple turnovers still left a minute ago.”

“Did you say turnovers?” Kili’s head popped up, looking more like a bird’s nest than anything else. Nothing of his face was visible except for his lower lip and chin.

“Yes, but they’ll be gone in just a minute it you don’t hurry up.”

Fili hit the floor with a thud and a yelp as Kili gave him a sharp kick in the ribs and Bilbo took that to mean that they would soon be joining the others in the kitchen to make short work of the remainder of his larder. Luckily there was also cold ham and cheese and some boiled eggs if they weren’t quick enough to catch the last of the turnovers, so it wasn’t as though either of the brothers would starve. Bilbo quickly made his way back out of the guest bedroom and left Fili digging under the bed for his other sock while Kili stepped on him to get at his pants.

“Boys,” he sighed as he wandered to his own bedroom, trying to remember if his rucksack was in his closet or down in the cellar. This time he didn’t notice the eyes on him as Thorin watched him from the kitchen door, a tin of blackberry cobbler in one hand and a fork in the other, his brows drawn together as he watched the newest member of their company wander away. Most folk who found the brothers in such a way had not reacted as favorably as the hobbit. Perhaps their practices were different, but from the look Thorin had gotten as he made his way through the Shire yesterday, he had a feeling that wasn’t quite the way of things.

Thorin shook his head as his nephews stumble out of their room, still only half dressed and pulling at each other’s hair. Maybe Gandalf had managed to find the one hobbit in all of Hobbiton who might not prove to be an inconvenience. He took another bite of his cobbler and went back into the kitchen to join the discussion about which was worse, orcs or elves. Naturally the elves won.  

…

Once the dishes had been done and neatly stacked and the dwarves had gathered up their pipes and boots and instruments and coats and cloaks and extra socks and a book or two and boxes of matches and a couple extra biscuits for the road, they met Bilbo at the front door.

The hobbit was dressed in a smart red velvet coat and no shoes, but there was a bulging rucksack next to him that he an oilcloth cloak rolled up at the top in case of rain. He’d also remembered where he put his spare pipe and packed quite a lot more pipe weed this time, as well as a sealed tin of medical supplies and bandages and some salve that helped with saddle sores. There weren’t as many books in his bag as there were last time, and the two he’d bothered to pack at all were the useful sort like field manuals, not bedtime stories. He was forced to admit that he hadn’t put a lot of thought into what he’d brought along last time and had subsequently ended up with three pairs of trousers, no extra coat, and not nearly enough tobacco. At least this time he’d had a little while to get ready and the foreknowledge to know what he needed to prepare for. Rain, trolls, wargs…this time he was ready for them. He even had a kitchen knife strapped to his belt in case of emergencies since he didn’t have his little sword yet and all of the dwarf weapons were far too big for him.

“It’s not too late to back out, Master Baggins,” Thorin said as Bilbo locked his green door behind them. The ponies had been let loose on the hill to graze, but it was the work of a moment for the dwarves to gather them up again and have them standing in a line down on the lane below. Those who hadn’t already mounted were looking at him expectantly. Gandalf had already broken out his pipe and was smoking away atop his shaggy horse.

“I signed the contract, didn’t I?” Bilbo tucked the key and a note for Hamfast into his mailbox where he knew his neighbor would find it when he came by to water the tomatoes. In it were instructions for the care of Bag End until his return, with strict orders not to let the Sackville-Baggins family anywhere near it. It was the best he could do, all things considered.  Not that he’d have much time to worry about his hole once they were on the road. The list sat snug and secure in his coat pocket, reminding him of his duty.

“It would be very poor of me to try to cry off now, especially since I have my bag ready and all. It would take me all day to put everything away again and I’m not sure I quite feel up to that sort of stress right now. We hobbits have very delicate constitutions, don’t you know.” And with that he clambered up onto his pony’s back and settled himself there very comfortably, not quite above giving Thorin a smug look.

The dwarf just snorted while Bofur and Fili and Kili laughed from behind Bilbo.

“You tell ‘im lad. I’m sure you’ll do your whole village proud,” called Bofur as they set off, fourteen ponies and a horse making quite a parade down the narrow dirt roads of the Shire. Bilbo didn’t feel the need to say that he doubted anyone in this part of the world would be proud of him for going off with such ne’er-do-wells. No doubt he’d be branded as a pariah again, but that was assuming he ever came back at all. Just because he had last time didn’t mean he’d survive as easily this time around.

It wasn’t until they were well on their way and deep into the golden fields owned by the Proudfoots that Bilbo clapped a hand to his forehead, looking absolutely appalled with himself.

“I can’t believe it!” He wailed. The entire pony line came to a halt, looking at him with mixed expectancy and annoyance. Bilbo looked at Gandalf, his eyes wide.

“I’ve forgotten my damn handkerchief again!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop writing about food at one in the morning, I keep making myself hungry. And it turns out Thorin likes blackberries. Who knew?


	7. The Prancing Pony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

They traveled east.

With the warm morning sun on their faces and no sign of any clouds to block it out, it seemed as though the entire trip was off to a good start. Full of breakfast, the dwarves all seemed to be in relatively good cheer with the exception of Dwalin and Thorin who couldn’t have smiled if their lives depended on it.

Bilbo had figured out that if he breathed through his mouth and did his best not to ride behind too many other ponies, he could keep his hair allergies to a minimum. Because of that he ended up near the front of their little parade, with Nori behind him and Thorin and Dwalin ahead. Since neither of the leaders seemed inclined to talk to anybody but each other, the newly appointed burglar fell back slightly so that he could ride next to their resident sneak thief.

“I’d forgotten why it was hobbits don’t ride ponies,” he said conversationally.

Nori raised an eyebrow at him and Bilbo realized that they were actually long enough that they had ben braided up into the rest of his intricate hairstyle. The middle brother of the brothers Ri hadn’t been one of the company he’d ever been close to (which might explain why he had never come to visit once they had parted ways). “And why would that be, Master Hobbit?” Nori paused in his picking the dirt out from under his nails with one of his dozen small blades.

“Because our legs are too short to fit around their fat middles. I’ll be walking funny for days.” Bilbo made a face and did his best to adjust his seat so that he was riding more like the dwarves and less like a sack of very uncomfortable potatoes.

A snort of laughter came from his companion and that cheered Bilbo up a little bit even if it did nothing for his sore inner thighs. “Would you prefer to walk rather than ride? Then you could complain of sore feet rather than your legs.”

“I walk everywhere!” Bilbo replied cheerfully. “Long ones - sometimes all the way to Bree if I stop off at a relative’s place on the way there for the night. We hobbits have thick feet for walking, hence why very few of us keep ponies. We have a couple of oxen for ploughing fields and that’s quite big enough for us.” Although the Took family did keep quite a few horses and ponies for renting to travelers or for bringing to the fair in the spring and autumn for the fauntlings to ride about on and braid ribbons into their manes. Not many had much use for traveling on them though since very few hobbits ever traveled so far from home that they would need a beast of burden to bear them.  

“Well Bree is our destination for this eve, so you’ll have a chance to pick up your handkerchiefs before we leave in the morning. It’s the last bit of civilization for the next long while.”

Bofur’s pocket was folded carefully in Bilbo’s coat. He’s lost it last time, somewhere between Goblin Town and Mirkwood. This time he was determined to keep a better hold on the token of goodwill.

“I think I’ll be alright without any handkerchiefs, Mister Nori. It’s not as though they’d be much use in a fight after all.” That he sniffled right after that statement didn’t do much for his credibility but Nori just looked amused and tucked his blade into a sheathe under his cloak.

“Just Nori, Master Hobbit. I’m neither royalty nor respectable so I don’t stand much on formality.”

“Then you must call me Bilbo, for I’m master of nothing but Bag End and I’m afraid we’ve left it a fair ways back now with the pantry quite empty.”

“If you manage to survive this adventure I think that your reward will be enough to help you fill the larders of every hole in the Shire should you decide to. And then still have most of your share leftover afterward.”

“That’s not a bad idea at all…” If he survived that was. If not he supposed they could always put his part towards some other worthy cause. Planting vegetable gardens on the slopes of Erebor or something equally as frivolous. Dwarves and men alike would walk by and wonder what knob head had decided that planting pumpkins and tomatoes outside of a stronghold would be a good idea. Maybe they would put up a little sign that read ‘Here lies Bilbo Baggins. He was a decent sort as far as hobbits go.’

Thorin looked back over his shoulder to check on his nephews and make sure they hadn’t run off while no one was looking. They’d done that more than once when he and Dis had taken them traveling and come running back being chased by angry badgers or the like. Luckily Fili and Kili were busy tormenting Ori at the moment. The scribe had the bad luck to be riding between the brother and while one was engaging him in conversation the other would steal his knitting or his papers and get them hopelessly mussed while Ori flailed helplessly. That’s what he got for trying to keep track of his things and be polite at the same time. Thorin snorted and shook his head, barely sparring a half glance for their burglar. Well, maybe a full glance. Or two.

“An interesting sort for a Halfling,” rumbled Dwalin, who had noticed Thorin’s not-so-subtle looks backwards.

“I was checking on Fili and Kili,” he snapped, not at all pleased about being caught.  

Dwalin simply looked at him, seeing right through his bluster just as he had been able to do when they had been children.

The king sighed. “I suppose he is. I had never met a hobbit before yester’eve and if I hadn’t encountered several of his kind on the way to our burglar’s home I wouldn’t have known he was different.”

There was a nod of agreement from Dwalin. “Seem like an unfriendly, suspicious lot if ye ask me.”

“And are we not as well?”

“Don’t go comparin’ me to those rabbit folk.” Dwalin wrinkled his nose in clear distaste. “Big feet, big ears, too fond of gardening and gossipin’ by half if I saw correctly. If a single orc came through the entire place would collapse.”

“Don’t forget about the big eyes,” added Thorin, thinking about a particular pair of muddy blue-green ones. When he turned around again he found them fixed steadily on him. Rather than looking away though, the burglar simply inclined his head in acknowledgement and went back to whatever he was talking with Nori about. Probably gardening and gossip if Dwalin was right.

An interesting sort indeed…

…

It took them most of the day to get to Bree since Bifur’s pony had thrown a shoe halfway and they’d had to call a halt so that Dori could hammer it back on. It turned out that Dori was actually a tinker. He had a beautiful carved wooden box that sat on his pony’s hindquarters that was stuffed to the brim with tools ranging from hammers and chisels to files and nails and picks of all sizes. Bilbo very gratefully climbed down from his pony to watch as the grumbling dwarf hammered back on a spare horseshoe faster than the best blacksmiths in Bree. Even though he complained the entire time, Bilbo could see that he was secretly a bit pleased about being able to show off his usefulness.

“A bit of everything,” he said to Bilbo when the hobbit asked what it was he did exactly. “I fix things. Bit of cobbling, blacksmithing, jewelry-making…whatever needed to be done to keep Ori fed.” They had both climbed back onto their ponies and rejoined the train, sadly further to the back now. Bilbo sniffled into Bofur’s pocket, the scent of tobacco and fabric helping to keep out most of the pony hair.

Ori, who had escaped from Fili and Kili and only looked somewhat frazzled for it, just smiled. “Dori was more like me mum than mum was! She died early on – got sick - an’ then da’ died in a cave in at the Blue Mountains. So Dori took care of me mostly. Remember that one time that barkeep thought you were a woman?”

The older dwarf looked very sour. “Don’t remind me. I made that coat into a blanket the very next day and it was the last time I ever wore blue.”

“It looked very fetching on you!” Called back Nori, and Gloin and Oin both roared with laughter. Dori looked like he’d bitten into a lemon and threw a horseshoe nail at Nori. It stuck in his hair and Gandalf was forced to lean over and fish it out again.

The sun was starting to go down by the time they arrived in Bree. The place was still crowded though, on account of it being a Sunday in May. It was market day and folk from all over had come to buy and sell and chat with their neighbors and relatives. It was exactly the sort of day Bilbo would have come to town himself so that he could have a pint at the inn and settle down to listen to the stories of the travelers who were passing through. Sometimes he would bring one of his journals and write down what he heard so that he could put them into a story book one day. He’d written quite a lot back in these days – books about medicine and doctoring and the proper way to take walks in the summer versus the winter. The Baggins family had always been quite wealthy so it wasn’t as though he had to keep his own farms and get married and have a dozen children to help run it. Instead he had occupied himself quite nicely with his garden and in the writing of his books. There was an entire case dedicated to them, all written in the same neat hand and signed by Bilbo Baggins. Often times fauntlings would come by for tea so that he would read to them out of his story books – collections of things he had made up or heard from one of the travelers in the Prancing Pony. His cousins would come by to borrow his cookbooks and Hamfast liked to critique his gardening book and point out where he had gotten something wrong or needed to put in a footnote.

But he wasn’t here to collect stories this time.

“Bilbo Baggins where are you off to with all of those dwarves?” It was Primula Brandybuck, who had a basket of carrots on one hip and her latest beau Drogo on the other arm. Bilbo nodded to his cousin from the back of his pony. The two of them had drowned before reaching the age of sixty, he remembered. The funeral had been dreadful – their son Frodo had cried for nearly a week straight after Bilbo had returned with him to Bag End and had harbored a fear of deep water just like his uncle ever since. More than once he had awoken in the middle of the night with cold hands wrapped around his arm as his nephew snuck into his bed on account of nightmares.

But here in this age they were hale and healthy and not even wed yet.

“Off on an adventure, Prim. Don’t marry that idiot before I get back or I’ll have to be very cross indeed.” Bilbo shook a finger at her and both she and Drogo laughed. The Brandybucks and the Tooks had always been the more adventurous of the hobbits, so it wasn’t a surprise that she was taking his departure as well as she was.

“Well, don’t you go getting yourself killed by bandits or something equally as horrible, Bilbo. And bring me back a present! Hamfast will be looking after Bag End? I’ll give him a hand keeping the place tidy when I’m in the area.”

“Excellent, I appreciate it Prim. I expect we’ll be staying at the Prancing Pony tonight, so you can come by and have a drink and I’ll introduce you to the dwarves.”

Primula eyed the rest of the company, who had continued on towards the inn at the end of the street. “All nice tall handsome lads from the looks of it.” Drogo made a discontented noise and she elbowed him in his tummy. “Don’t give me that, what would I do with a dwarf? He’d eat me out of house and home faster than you do already. You go on now Bilbo, perhaps we’ll see you this evening.”

Bilbo gave them both a wave and kicked Mrytle in her sides to catch up with the dwarves, all of whom had already dismounted and were handing off the ponies to the stable master.

“Are all hobbits related?” Asked Ori curiously when Bilbo explained to him that Drogo was his cousin on his father’s side and Primula on his mother’s.   

“Heavens no, think of the inbreeding! But some clans marry into each other more often than not so anyone with fewer than a dozen cousins on either side is considered an anomaly. And there is the occasional pair of cousins who fall in love and decide to tie the knot, but they usually have the good sense to not have children.”

“It sounds as though they breed like rabbits as well,” said Dwalin, apparently talking to Thorin though loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “I wonder what else they have in common with them?”

“You won’t be finding out,” said Bilbo with annoyance at being compared to what he considered a rather high-strung creature. Maybe he had been that way when he had actually been fifty, but now he was a properly aged and experienced hobbit even if he didn’t look it anymore. He didn’t even take being able to see properly or walk without pain for granted. Though the walking without pain was a relative thing. He steadfastly refused to wince as he walked with a somewhat bow-legged gait into the Prancing Pony.

It wasn’t until the door had shut behind him that the dwarves all started laughing at their stiff little burglar.

Night came on quickly after they had gotten settled in their rooms. There hadn’t been many left open on account of it being market day, so the thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, and the wizard had gotten to cram themselves into the three remaining rooms and spread themselves out where there was space.

“Still better than sleepin’ on the road, mind you,” said Bofur cheerfully as he unrolled his bedroll next to Bilbo’s on the floor. The two of them may not have warranted a bed, but at least they got a place in front of the little hearth which would keep them toasty all night.

Earlier they had ventured out into the market and bought a few of the things they would require for traversing the Great East Road. Bilbo bought some rope and some herbs for fighting infection, though Oin assured him that he too had supplies for just that sort of occasion. “Better safe than sorry,” was Bilbo’s response and the old apothecary shrugged and went to look at jars of leeches being sold at the next stand.

“I’m not looking forward to rock digging into my back, I have to agree,” the hobbit yawned as he burrowed under his blanket with his feet showing at the bottom so that the fire could keep them warm. They were sharing a room with Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Gandalf had the bed because it was human-sized. Bombur was already fast asleep in the corner, leaning up against Bifur who was whittling something that looked like a headless chicken with intense concentration. Gandalf had yet to come up from the bar where he had been speaking with Thorin for the last hour after they had finished their dinner of stew and bread and quite a lot of ale.

“It’s not the rocks that’re the problem,” said Bofur as he started to undo his pigtails. “I’m not fond of the bugs or gettin’ rained on.”

“So why are you here?” Asked Bilbo curiously. “If you don’t like traveling so much, I mean.”

Bofur winked at him as he settled down under his blanket. “A dwarfs got ta’ make his fortune somehow, right? And ‘sides, the beer was free.”

And really, who could argue with free beer?

…

“I still don’t understand why you insisted on bringing the Halfling, Gandalf. This is not his business, nor does he have anything to lose like the rest of us do should we fail.”

“And you are as suspicious and close-minded as ever, Thorin Oakenshield. Can you not trust me in this?” Gandlaf’s face was wreathed in smoke. He hadn’t put down his pipe since they had departed bag End early that morning, nor did it seem he had any intention of doing so until they reached Erebor from the looks of things.

“Filching your pipe and Dwalin’s purse is hardly stealing gold out from under a dragon’s nose. I brought Nori for just such a purpose and instead you insist on bringing…him!” Thorin glowered into his half-empty stein as if this whole situation was his beer’s fault. It wasn’t that he had any sort of personal grudge against hobbits in general. In fact he would have been happy to never think of them again if he had the choice. But this particular hobbit was preying on his mind more than he should have.

“That hobbit has more to offer than any of your men. I think he may yet surprise you with his knowledge,” Gandalf replied mildly as he turned a smoke ring into a butterfly and sent it winging across the room.

“I cannot guarantee his safety.” Thorin knew his voice was short.

“Understood.”

“Nor will I be responsible for his fate.”

“I think, Thorin Oakenshield, you should be more concerned about how responsible he is for _your_ fate rather than the other way around.”

Thorin had nothing to say to that, so he finished his drink and left the wizard’s company without saying goodnight. And if he paused outside of the room he knew the burglar was sharing with the other dwarves, he convinced himself that it was just to assure himself that his company slept soundly.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand our first real deviation from the film. It seemed to me that if they were traveling to the Great East Road, their first stop would have been Bree rather than the middle of nowhere, so they probably just skipped over it in that travel montage. Anyway, enjoy!


	8. Best Left in the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Gore, Death

Fog hung heavy over the sleeping town when the company departed the next morning, hot cakes wrapped in napkins warming their coat pockets for breakfast later on the road. Bilbo started nibbling on his right away while it was still warm. This was the beginning and then best way to start anything was with a warm breakfast after all. There were many missed meals ahead of him that he wasn’t looking forward to at all, but at least his first breakfast on pony-back was sweet and had nuts and honey in it. Gandalf seemed to agree with him because the old wizard was already picking the crumbs out of his beard.  

Since the sun hadn’t risen yet the air was cold and damp and seemed to crawl into every uncomfortable place especially between his toes and the backs of his knees, which he didn’t particularly like.  

A sleepy watchman was the only one to see them off at the back gate.

“Heading for the Iron Hills?” He asked them as they paused at the head of the road. “Well good luck to you and yours. There’s bad things all down the road from here on, so watch your backs. Bandits and goblins alike seem to be coming out of the woodwork.”

“Thank you for your concern,” said Thorin in a tone that said that he didn’t really care for the watchman’s thoughts on the perilous road. They were dwarves after all, not a band of merchants ripe for the plucking.

Bilbo just shivered and sneezed into his makeshift handkerchief. Three times already he had caught himself thinking that he was too old for this sort of thing and then kicking himself for that mentality. Hobbits of fifty were considered to be in the prime of their life, so this couldn’t have come during a better year for him. He was hale and hearty, though if this damp and fog kept up that might be a swiftly declining state.

 _No getting homesick_ , Bilbo told himself after he found his thoughts wandering to warm, comfortable places that didn’t involve horse hair or saddle sores. He hadn’t lived in Bag End for years – the last of his days had been spent in Valinor and Rivendell before that, living in peace among the elves. They had proved to be wonderful hosts to old hobbits and many of them had seemed to grow fond of him and the stories he would regale them with when he’d had a glass of wine or two. But there had still been days when he had longed for his little hobbit hole even if he didn’t care for the neighbors overly much. Too nosey and close-minded by half. Half of them had never believed that he’d gone on an adventure at all, but rather smoked some rather potent pipe weed and fallen into a ditch for a bit.

And there had been some days when Bilbo wished that had been what happened. There would have been fewer tears and heartbreak in the end.

The line of ponies, led by Gandalf on his white horse, slowly trailed down the hill and away from Bree and what was no doubt that last speck of civilized living until Rivendell at the edge of the Misty Mountains. The fog didn’t lift until midday and by then almost everything and everyone was cold and damp. Bilbo was very happy he’d eaten his breakfast earlier before it had the chance to get soggy. He was riding with Nori on one side of him today and Dori on the other and was content to listen to the brothers quietly bicker about whose fault one thing or another had been. It usually ended with Dori red in the face and Nori looking very smug about some sort of trouble he’d caused to vex his brother.

From what Bilbo could piece together, the family had a rough time getting settled after the chaos Smaug caused. Refugees flooded the other dwarf settlements and everyone went through some rather lean years for a while after that.

“There wasn’t much call for a craftsman in a city where folk could barely afford food. Dori made by with his mending and Ori got hired on as an apprentice to Balin as a scribe, but when ends didn’t quite meet I found out that light fingers can be useful for more than just making thing.”

“You were constantly in and out of prison,” snapped Dori. “Bringing shame on our family until we had to deny being related to you so the guards would stop raiding our home looking for stolen goods.”

“You didn’t complain when I was bringing home extra food for Ori or blankets in the winter.”

“Yes but you didn’t have to keep at it once we had enough to be comfortable!”

The thief just shrugged. “It was what I was good at.”

“I’m good at gardening,” Bilbo chimed in, hoping to change the subject to something less volatile, but they both kept talking right over him and he doubted they’d heard him at all.

Nori’s lip curled. “You were good at getting caught by the guards and thrown in prison!”

“I was usually out by the next morning so I don’t know why you keep complaining!”

“You were out because you broke out, not because they let you out, don’t glamorize it!”

By now Ori had heard his brothers bickering and had fallen back nearly to the back of the line so that he wouldn’t have to listen to them. Bilbo suddenly felt very sorry for the young scribe if this was what he had to listen to all the time. When Dwalin turned on his pony and shot a dark look at the three of them the two brothers both shut their mouths and refused to look at each other again for the next hour. Bilbo simply shrunk down in his saddle and did his best to look very small so that he wouldn’t attract any more negative attention or get caught in the middle of another argument. It was a highly uncomfortable place to be he decided and made a mental note not to bring up the touchy subject if both of the dwarves were within hearing distance at the same time.

And so passed the first day. Towards the evening they came upon a farmhouse and the man who owned it was more than happy to let them bed down in his barn for the couple of gold coins Thorin passed him. The ponies mingled with a couple fat cows outside while the dwarves lay down their bedrolls in the sweet hay and Gloin started a small fire outside that they could sit around and have their supper. Bilbo was especially looking forward to this point, seeing as he had already missed four of his usual seven meals of the day and his stomach had taken to nibbling on his backbone for the last few hours, demanding that he give it a biscuit.

Luckily Bombur had more than a biscuit in his overlarge pack. A package of butcher paper-wrapped meat was removed and passed around. The chunks were fragrant with heavy spices and it looked and smelled like beef when Bilbo sniffed it. These chunks were quickly speared of blade tips and held over their fire to cook and the air was filled with the smell of toasting meat and spices. Kili caught his on fire by sitting to close and stuck it in his mouth without blowing it out first. The resulting yelp made everyone laugh except Fili, who was patting his brother on the back so that he wouldn’t choke or spit out his dinner. Even Thorin managed to look amused, though Bilbo had no idea how he did it without moving his mouth at all.

The grilled meat was followed up by an apple each, though they were still quite a bit sour since true apple season wouldn’t be for another few months. All of them would miss apple-picking, though Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion that very few of the dwarves had actually done anything of the like before. They were miners and craftsman for the most part, and warriors all. Not farmers like his people. Perhaps once this was all over, and assuming they survived it at all, he would plant some apple trees on the slope of the lonely mountain so one day the dwarves could enjoy them as well.

Oin was a solid presence at Bilbo’s back that night and kept him warm despite the lack of fire since there was no way to light one in the barn without sending them all up in flames. That was one thing that could be said for traveling with dwarves – it was hard to catch a chill with such hot-blooded folk about.

Most of the company went straight to sleep. The veterans of road travel who knew how to sleep anywhere and at any time. Bilbo wasn’t one of those folk, nor it seemed were Fili and Kili. They sat up talking to each other in a language that seemed unique to just the two of them for at least an hour. Bilbo watched them from under the corner of his own blanket, weary to his bones but unwilling to miss a moment of seeing them so healthy and full of good cheer. The quest had brought out the harsher side of everyone, the brothers included. They had grown lean and wary and towards the end the gold lust had consumed them nearly as much as it had Thorin. Gold and stone called to their blood and preyed on their minds just as it did the rest of their kind, and perhaps more so for that they were of Durin’s line. It had been so hard to slowly watch their eyes glaze over with lust for what gleamed and glittered rather than for the life they had cherished only days before. They had fought for what was theirs and they had died for it in the end.

Bilbo’s eyes slid to the lump that he knew was Thorin. The king slept deeply, untroubled by the quiet conversation between his nephews. There wasn’t much chance of an attack or an ambush in this place after all, and Fili and Kili were set to rouse Bifur for his turn at watch when they grew tired. It was impossible to tell how long the king had been traveling before he arrived at the Shire – no doubt most of the dwarves were already accustomed to sleeping where they could find a dry patch of ground and were grateful whenever it included a roof. Bilbo was suddenly even more grateful that he had managed to provide them with as many blankets and pillows as he did. Any small comfort for such wanderers had to be a welcome one. He knew that he wouldn’t have minded sleeping on the floor if he had an extra blanket or two and a pillow to lay his head on rather than a pile of hay. But that was miles behind him now and he had a job ahead of him the likes of which no hobbit had ever known. Or at least no hobbit that he had ever heard of.

His eyes slowly slid shut as the hobbit was lulled to sleep by the sound of quiet voices and soft laughter and the chirruping of crickets in the grass outside.

…

One day turned into two, and then into three as they traveled down the Great East Road. The days were quiet for the most part. Bilbo did his best not to get himself into trouble, though he did manage to get himself labeled as the worst rider of the group when he fell asleep in the saddle and slipped right over the side. His foot got tangled in one of the ropes holding his bag to the animal’s rear and he ended up very awake and hanging upside down while his ankle throbbed with pain and the dwarves all stopped their own mounts to laugh at his predicament. Well, all of them but Bifur who quickly dismounted and righted the burglar again. Bilbo tried to thank him while the dwarf brushed off his coat, but Bifur just grunted something in Khuzdul that sounded like it might have been a swear word because all of the dwarves laughed louder and handed him a bit of string out of his pocket.

He had no idea what the string was for, so he simply stashed it in his pocket and climbed back onto his pony, trying to ignore the burning in his ears and the feeling of utter mortification. Proper burglars didn’t fall asleep in their saddles, so what did that make him? A poor old hobbit playing at being a young burglar again when he hadn’t really stolen anything since he had spirited away the Arkenstone. Now shame replaced embarrassment and he hunched over in his saddle, determined to stay awake this time and not be seen as a liability.

“Did you not sleep properly last night?” Asked Thorin from behind him and Bilbo did his level best not to look suspicious. Of course he’d always been rotten at acting so his casual look probably came off more like constipated than anything else.

“No, fine. Just fine.” Actually Oin had rolled on him some time in the middle of the night and he had spent nearly an hour trying to crawl out from under him without damaging anything important. Like his spine. After that he had been too sore to get back to sleep again until close to dawn and then he’d been roused what felt like minutes later and told to get back on his blasted pony. His thighs and backside weren’t thanking him at all by now and he was ridiculously grateful that he’d brought a bit of salve to apply to the sore areas.

“I can’t afford to let you slow my men so that might get as much rest as a hobbit needs,” said Thorin and he sounded a little bit irritated, as if Bilbo had meant to fall off his pony and make a fool out of himself.

Bilbo gritted his teeth and reminded himself that Thorin was simply looking out for his company. But sometimes he could be so damn unpleasant about it that it was enough to drive a hobbit to drive. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m not fond of either hanging upside down or being laughed at.”

“But you’re so good at both, Master Hobbit!” Called up Bombur and his own pony danced about a bit as its rider exploded into uproarious laughter. The rest of the lot seemed to find this amusing as well because the entire company had to pause for a moment. That was when he first smelled it.

“Does anybody else smell something rotting?” Bilbo shifted around in his little saddle to look over his shoulder. Maybe some animal had died and been left by the side of the road, but the distinct, pungent smell seemed to indicate something larger than a rabbit or other brush land animal.  

“Aye,” said Balin, pausing his pony next to Bilbo and inhaling deeply. “There’s something foul about and I don’t like it.”

“Probably just a deer,” grumbled Dwalin, but he had already dismounted and had his massive war hammer in hand. Gandalf continue silently smoking at the back of the line, but his face had settled into lines that Bilbo recognized as his worried ones.

“Search the area,” snapped Thorin and everyone instantly obeyed. Bilbo yelped as he was caught by his collar and yanked back when he went to follow after Dori and Nori. “Stay here, Master Hobbit. We don’t need you disappearing into a rabbit hole and then have to waste more time digging you out again.”

“A rabbit hole?! Well I never – “

“Thorin! Over here!” It was Gloin and he was waving his axe over his head from atop a small rise on the side of the road. Instantly the other dwarves gave up their digging around in the bushes and towed their ponies behind them as they went to catch up.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. From what Bilbo could figure, a band a travelers had met their end in the small valley, probably chased off the road by whatever ambush they had encountered. The corpses were peppered with thick black arrows and horrible slicing wounds. Flies covered their eyes and mouths and the wounds on their dead horses. An overturned and half-burned cart lay on its side, empty of all its contents. Whatever had set upon the humans had made away with anything of value they might have been carrying and left the bodies to rot in the spring sunshine. There looked to be a few soldiers based on what armor he could see, but they had probably only been acting as an escort for the others. Whether they had been merchants or simply folk seeking a new home elsewhere it was impossible to say.

“You wouldn’t have been able to see them from the road,” whispered Bilbo, his eyes wide as he took in the destruction. Behind him he could hear Ori emptying the contents of his stomach into the grass.

“No,” agreed Thorin in a hard tone. “They’ve probably been there for the better part of a week from the looks of it. Anyone traveling by wouldn’t have noticed them except for the smell.”

“Poor souls.” Balin tilted his head down in a moment of silent respect for the dead and the rest of the company did the same, removing their hats and closing their eyes. Bilbo looked at the grass and suppressed a silent shuddered. Had these folk been here the last time they had traveled by and they simply hadn’t noticed? Or were things already beginning to shift from the way they had once been because of some small action on his part?

After a minute had passed, Thorin straightened again. “We’ll burn the bodies. Check the arrows – I want to know if we need to be on guard for bandits or orcs.” His hand settled on the blade at his side as if he were even now imagining separating their heads from their necks. Oin was rubbing Ori’s back, trying to give some sort of comfort to the poor scribe for he still looked very ill and was white as a sheet.

Bilbo followed Bofur down the rise and stepped over the legs of one of the dead horses as he tried to control his own stomach. The smell was absolutely vile and overpowered his senses with the odor of rotting flesh. Dwalin hefted up the body of one of the guards and pulled him closer to where several of the other dwarves were assembling a makeshift pyre out of what dry wood and branches they could find. There wasn’t the time to give them a proper burial with the pace they had set, but the least they could do was make sure that the bodies wouldn’t be further desecrated by animals or the weather.

With a steadily sinking heart, Bilbo did what he could to help. He pulled boards off of the ruined horse cart and added them to the pile, not making a single noise when he cut his palm on a nail. There were more important things to deal with than a scratch right now.

“Oh no…” He whispered as he pulled away another board. A small, pale hand lay still in the grass, revealed by the sunlight in the newly made gap. The hobbit dropped to his belly and wriggled under the cart, ignoring the calls of ‘Bilbo, what are you doing’ from Bombur and Nori. It was cool and dark under the overturned cart. The heat of the sun hadn’t damaged this body quite as much as the others, but Bilbo still found himself shaking as he carefully gathered up the corpse of the child and pulled it back out with him. It had been a little girl, dressed in a soft yellow shift. One of her shoes was missing and her head was turned at an unnatural angle that suggested she had been killed when the cart flipped rather than by arrows and blades like the rest of the party. Perhaps that was a small mercy.

When he emerged, carefully dragging the body with him, the whole party seemed to sag with the weight of sorrow. There was nothing worse than the bodies of children, especially to dwarves. They had so few themselves that the loss of any young life was hard. Dori stepped forward to take the body from him but Bilbo quickly snapped “I can do it!” And wouldn’t let him take the girl.

Her eyes, which might have been blue before they glazed over, stared blankly at the sky as Bilbo scooped her up in his arms and started for the pyre.

Dwalin went over to stand by Thorin, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed as he watched the hobbit stumble under the weight of the human child. No doubt he was more used to hauling about bags of fertilizer than corpses, but he couldn’t help but find a small seed of admiration at the burglar’s resolve.

“Orcs,” he said shortly to their leader and Thorin’s face grew even darker if possible. “A raiding party, probably a dozen if na’ more. They rode wargs – there are prints in the grass. The humans didn’t stand a chance.”

“If I could get my hands on them I would burn them alive,” growled Thorin as he watched Bilbo carefully set down the girl next to the others and close her eyes. Then the burglar stood, brushed off the front of his trousers, and took off walking out into the field. “Where is he - ?”

Dwalin just shrugged. “He’s of a gentle folk. I’ll finish here if you wish to fetch him back a’for he falls in a ditch.”

“Or a rabbit hole.” Thorin sighed and started walking after Bilbo while the rest of the company finished building the pyre and began to lay the dozen or so bodies atop it.

By the time he’d caught up with the hobbit (who moved surprisingly quickly for his small size), Bilbo had fallen to his knees in the long grass and was carefully pulling up white flowers and arranging them into a delicate bundle. The field was awash with colorful flowers and fat bumblebees, but the hobbit only seemed interested in two kinds.

“We don’t have time for flowers, Master Hobbit. We must be on our way to make up for lost time on the road and there are orcs about now.”

“There are always orcs,” Bilbo replied in a deceptively calm voice. He selected two more flowers – one of them had a yellow center surrounded by white petals while the other looked more like a stalk with little white bells along its stem. When he turned to look at Thorin the king could see the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes, along with a startling strength that kept them contained. The bundle of flowers were cradled in his small hands. “Heather for protection. Daisies for innocence. Sometimes there has to be time for flowers, King Under the Mountain.”

And Bilbo left Thorin standing in the field among the bees and the flowers. When they pyre was lit the dwarves all sung a low, mournful song in khuzdul that Bilbo didn’t understand. The human child had a spray of white blossoms clutched between her cold hands. They burned brighter than anything else.

…

That night they stopped early and made their camp on the edge of a small ravine. With a sheer drop at one edge it provided them more protection than sleeping out in the open would. There was only one way in or out of their little hideout and any orc pack who thought to sneak up on them would have a nasty surprise waiting for them. That night they kept watch in groups of two rather than one. The day’s discovery had everyone on edge and strangely silent. No songs were sung from pony back and when they had stopped for lunch there hadn’t been any of the usual joking and rambunctious laughter. A pall had settled over the whole company and left them feeling empty.

Bilbo couldn’t sleep. Every time he shut his eyes all he saw were corpses looking back at him. He hadn’t seen Fili’s or Kili’s. He hadn’t been able to face that sort of pain and had run like the coward he was all the way back to the Shire before the funeral. He’d barely taken the time to say a proper goodbye to the survivors. Instead he had bolted like wargs were snapping at his heels, chased away by the memory of blue eyes clouding over as Thorin Oakenshield passed on to where he could not follow. Loyalty and a willing heart meant nothing to the dead. Nor did love.

It was that thought that had the hobbit on his feet again, his hands shaking like he had brushed up too closely to a lightning bolt.

“Bilbo?” Fili looked up at him from where he and Kili were taking their turn at watch, smoking next to the fire. Kili was sprawled on his side with his head in his brother’s lap and Fili was slowly stroking his dark hair with the hand that wasn’t holding his pipe. “What’s the matter?”

“Can’t sleep,” he replied as he walked over to sit on Fili’s other side. He accepted the offered pipe and puffed on it while he stared at the fire. The tobacco was rich and earthy and very clearly not from Hobbiton. And yet it was exactly what he needed right then. It curled around in his head and helped to muffle thoughts that he wasn’t sure he was ready to face yet.

“Not surprised. Nasty business, that.” Fili looked off into the darkened valley below them Kili seemed halfway asleep and didn’t say anything, having been lulled into a sense of security by his brother’s tender caresses.

All three of them jerked to attention when a howl broke through the relative silence.

“Orcs?” Whispered Bilbo as he handed Fili back his pipe.

“Probably. The low lands are crawling with ‘em. There’ll be dozens of ‘em out there.” This time Fili sounded more serious than joking. The evidence of the orc’s brutality had made what might have been a joke into a very real possibility.

Kili rolled his head back far enough that he could look at Bilbo upside down and then hobbit noticed that one of his hands had fallen to the blade that lay beside him. Just in case. “Uncle says they usually attack in the wee small hours of the morning when everyone’s asleep. But we have a watch set, so we should be – “

“If orcs came upon the three of you at this time, we would all be dead before we had time to grab our swords.”

Thorin was awake and he didn’t look happy about it. Then again, none of them were exactly in the highest of spirits, so perhaps his scowl was just residual. Bilbo dropped his eyes back down to the fire and didn’t say anything for fear of what might come out of his mouth.  

“We’re keeping watch!” Kili protested as he sat up, trying his best to look alert and failing miserably.

“Children and burglars,” Thorin snorted with disdain. “Oh yes, I’m sure everyone feels much safer.”

Both brothers looked absolutely horrified at being referred to as children, but Bilbo remembered that for all that they were in their seventies and eighties neither one was considered more than a youngster barely out of their tweens by dwarf standards. While he did feel sorry for blow to their egos, Bilbo did have to admit to himself that two young and sleepy dwarves and one hobbit did not make for a very good watch, especially with known danger in the area.

“It won’t happen again, uncle,” Kili said with his head lowered in shame. Thorin just grunted and stalked off into the dark in the direction of the ponies.

He anticipated it, but Bilbo still jumped a little bit when Balin came up next to him. “Don’t mind him, laddie.” The old dwarf’s voice was soft and soothing, like a balm on a burn and Bilbo found himself relaxing against his will. Balin had the same sort of presence as a grandfather – the kind who could bandage knees and tell stories and comfort you on the darkest of days. Bilbo knew he was too old for that sort of thing, but it still reassured him to have Balin at his side. An old friend who wasn’t a friend yet.

“Your uncle has always hated orcs more than most. No doubt today simply stirred up some dark memories for him. And for the rest of us as well,” Balin sighed.

Fili looked up in interest, smoke leaking out of the corners of his mouth. “Memories?”

Balin nodded and settled himself more comfortably against the rock face. “After the dragon took the lonely mountain King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria.”

 _Oh yes, this story,_ thought Bilbo.

“But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs lead by the most vile of all their race – Azog the Defiler.”

_Charging down the hill on the back of a white warg, his eyes blazing in the dark as he glared at his quarry with undisguised malice. A twisted hook where his arm had once been, tracing through the fur of his mount as he commanded one of the orcs to cut off Thorin’s head as the king lay helpless on the ground and the world burned around him…_

Bilbo had stopped listening, losing himself to the sound of the wind and the memory of fire, but Fili jostled him as he shifted around and jerked him back to the present.

“That is when I saw him. A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back.”

_‘The eagles are coming!’ He cried. It had to be enough. For all that the dwarves had banded together with the men and elves at the end, the army of orcs refused to be defeated. But now the eagles had arrived and Bilbo prayed that would be the last push the war needed to bring them victory and save the ones who had fallen. It had to be. Then a rock connected with the back of his head and darkness swallowed him whole._

 “ - and I thought to myself then, ‘There is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King’.”

By then most of the company was awake again and listening, though many of them had probably lived through it the first time and could recall the scent of death. It may have been a glorious story, but Bilbo knew how it was to be surrounded by enemies on all sides, too busy trying to keep your own head attached to your shoulders to worry if your friends were still alive. And then came the miserable fallout when the dead were counted and you realized exactly what you had lost…

A twig snapped across from him and he looked up, meeting Thorin’s eyes across the fire. The flickering light made the angles of his face harder and his eyes looked more yellow than blue. They caught and held his, and Bilbo feared that he saw some sort of speculation in them. A curiosity that had never really been leveled in his direction before. His list was safe in his pocket, reminding him of the heavy secret he carried like a lock around his heart. But those chains were slowly beginning to loosen and he knew he could only hold onto them for so long.

_Eru give me strength._

“Get some sleep,” he told the company. “We have an early start tomorrow.”

Bilbo sagged back against the rock behind him when Thorin finally looked away and cursed himself for a fool three times over and once more in elvish. _Bilbo Baggins, you utter knob brain. You were in love with him the whole time and you never once realized it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter turned out a bit longer than I expected. I kept trying to cut it off and then not and before I knew it I had a 5.5k chapter on my hands. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	9. Springtime Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Raunchy Singing

“Mister Gandalf, can’t you do something about this deluge?” Called Dori. The eldest of the ‘Ri brothers was looking more and more like a mop as his neatly braided beard swelled up with water. It had been raining for the last three days and no one had been spared. Bilbo smiled humorlessly and hunched his shoulders in an attempt to keep the icy rainwater out of his collar. At least he’d remembered his oilskin this time, but in the end he had given it to Kili since he had left his at the Prancing Pony. At least the prince was warm and comfortable now, although he had been bragging to Fili for the last two days that their burglar liked _him_ best. Fili hadn’t taken that well at all and took every opportunity to steal the waterproof cloak away from Kili just to spite him.

It was nice to know that no matter what he did or said, there was nothing he could do to change the weather. The same storm had swept them up last time and he knew it would blow over by the next morning. Until then everyone would have to tolerate being wet and grumpy. Bofur puffed away at his pipe, but it seemed like he was blowing more bubbles out of it than smoke since the bowl had filled with water and ruined whatever tobacco had been in it.

“It is raining, Master Dwarf!” Snapped back Gandalf. Even the wizard seemed irritable and the edges of his hat had begun to sag. Water began to pour off of the brim in a steady stream and onto the wizard’s long nose. “And it will continue to rain until the rain is done!” Bilbo couldn’t help but smile a little bit as he rode behind the wizard. Some things never changed and Gandalf would never cease to be grumpy when something went beyond his skills as a wizard. Most of the Shire didn’t think that his talents went beyond summoning a bit of fire to set off his trademark fireworks but clearly the dwarves thought a little bit higher. Killing hundreds of dragons and changing the weather indeed…

Bilbo sneezed into his wet velvet sleeve and huffed. He had spent many a rainy day after returning from Erebor sitting inside and enjoying not being wet. Sometimes he would think back to these few wet days and feel grateful that he wasn’t stuck outdoors with wet hair and smelling increasingly of wet horse with the beginnings of a cold settling itself very comfortably in his lungs.

But now he was, so all those days of feeling content with a book and a fire crackling at his toes while he dreamed of the past were now gone. Frodo wasn’t even a spark in his parent’s eyes yet and nobody was panicking over a magic ring and a war that could consume the world. No, the biggest dreams right now were of dragons and gold and somehow it seemed so innocent. The fate of the world didn’t hang in the balance right now. If the dwarves never disturbed Smaug he could have probably slept for another sixty years and no one would have had to deal with him until far later. It was an age of peace and prosperity that would quickly come crashing down with the rise of Sauron.

Just thinking about it made Bilbo feel vaguely ill. He was just a hobbit, not a wizard who could wrap his mind around great spells and magic like the one that had been worked upon him. And speaking of wizards…

“Gandalf,” he said quietly, giving his pony a little nudge with his heels so that he could ride up beside him.

“Hmm? Oh yes my dear boy, what can I do for you? And don’t ask me about the weather, I’m afraid that the answer is absolutely not. I may be a wizard but there are some things that are just ridiculous to request. Now if you wanted a fire started or a boulder split in twain I’m sure I could do something for you, but the best I could manage with this would be a very poor water-proofing spell that would only last for a few minutes at best so in the end it wouldn’t be worth the energy it took to cast.”

Bilbo tried to interrupt several times to say that he didn’t want to ask about stopping the rain at all, but Gandalf was determined to have his say and in the end he just gave up until he was quite sure that the wizard was done. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth the effort it took to be heard in this company since everyone was louder than him and seemed to have stronger opinions about most things. If it could be spoken about, the dwarves could probably argue about it. What was for dinner, which path was best for taking ponies on, which was the wettest, the strongest, the fastest, the smartest…well, maybe not the last one quite as much. That honor usually went to Gandalf simply because he had to be very wise to have gotten to be so old. The only thing Bilbo had won on the entire trip was the dubious honor of being the shortest and having the least amount of hair, neither of which he had been very happy about winning in the first place. So now he kept his mouth shut when they started up again and was glad they weren’t comparing penis sizes just yet. Or at least not in this weather they weren’t.

“I just wanted to ask you about some things,” he said, being purposefully vague as he glanced back behind them to make sure no one was within hearing range. Luckily the rain cut down on the noise substantially so it was hard to hear much of anything, let alone a quiet conversation. The best he could tell, Dwalin was yelling at Nori for something back a few yards and everyone else seemed content to stew in their own wet misery until they made camp for the night.

“There are many things you could ask me about, Bilbo Baggins, but I have a feeling that I already know what has been weighing on your mind lately.”

He sneezed again and the pony did the same. It seemed that no one was getting through this weather with any sort of cheer, Bofur excluded because he would have been cheerful in the middle of a blizzard.

“It’s just that,” Bilbo continued, wiping his nose on the pocket Bofur had given him in place of a handkerchief, “Everything feels different. Things have already happened that didn’t happen the first time around and I’m worried– “

“If you weren’t worried I would think you a bigger fool than most of these dwarves with exception of one or two who are especially so.”

That made Bilbo laugh, because he was fairly certain he could pick out exactly which dwarves Gandalf was referring to. “It’s just that things have been going differently since I left home, and I don’t know what I did to make that happen. You wouldn’t think that making breakfast and not showing up late would have changed things so much already.”

“Were you late? How very unlike you.”

“Well I wasn’t originally planning on going, if I must be honest. I told you that you had found the wrong hobbit and then had to run to catch up the next morning when I changed my mind.”

Gandalf let out a rough bark of laughter. “Now that would have been quite a sight. And I suppose you packed all of your books and wore your best Sunday coat as well?”

“You don’t need to make it sound so bad. Although I must say that coat was well and truly ruined by the end…”

The wizard just shook his head and Bilbo got the impression that he was smiling behind his wet beard. “As for changes, I can’t say I’m surprised. Can you honestly say that you’re the same hobbit who ran out of your door the first time? That you have the same thoughts and feelings and say the same things you once did?”

“No, of course not. I know what happens, so how can I – “

“That’s the point, Bilbo. You can’t. Compare yourself to a pebble that has been tossed in a flat pond. You create ripples and those ripples get bigger the further out they go. You’ve been thrown twice now, so you can’t expect to make the exact same ripples or to sink to the same place in the pond. Of course things will be different!”

“Now you have me worried about the big ripples,” Bilbo muttered and tried to sink down lower to less water would slide down the back of his neck.   

“There’s nothing you can do except what you believe to be right, my dear Bilbo. I think that’s all that anyone can ever do.”

Bilbo just silently prayed that when the time came he would know what the right thing was. So far everything had been looking very gray and muddled, like soup that hadn’t quite decided what flavor it wanted to be yet. All he could do was stir, maybe add in some herbs, and hope that it turned out better than his last attempt.

_________________________________

Later that afternoon Thorin called a halt to their precession and it was met with many groans of relief and a couple of whimpers as more than one company member found that the water had soaked through their pants and effectively glued them to their saddles.

A Traveler’s Tree stood next to the road, a massive old growth that the middle had rotted straight out of and left a cavernous hollow into which they could all fit comfortably. Even the ponies stayed relatively dry once they were tethered to the trunk since the branches of the cedar kept the worst of the downpour off of them. There were signs that the tree had been used as a place of refuge before, since Bombur uncovered the remains of an old fire in the middle of the hollow and there was evidence of smoke soot further up the inside of the trunk.

“Get a fire going,” Thorin commanded as he shed his heavy fur coat and hung it on a protruding branch so that it could dry out for a while. Most of the others followed his example and the company was very quickly stripped down to their underthings and huddled around the fire that had been started up in the ashes of the last one. Even Gandalf had unbent enough to hang up his gray cloak, revealing (unsurprising) loose grey trousers and an undershirt of the same color. Bilbo’s coat was dripping at the sleeves as he put it up and he heartily hoped that the fire and warmth would be enough to make it fresh again, else he’d be riding wet once more in the morning.  

The hollow tree was quickly filled with the sounds of grumbling and sneezes and sniffling as the company unwound from the long days of riding in less than ideal conditions. No one had expected it to be a pleasure trip by any means, but three days of rain was pushing the limits of everyone’s stamina. Even Dwalin looked more dour than usual and he was a seasoned warrior and traveler. Nori had unwound a couple of his intricate braids and was busy wringing water out of them while Dori tried to make Ori sit closer to the fire and Ori complained that sitting much close would set his beard alight.

“Fili set his beard on fire once,” Kili chirruped and then laughed and tried to roll away as Fili began to hit him about the head with one of his discarded boots.

“Aye, that he did,” rumbled Dwalin with a smirk. “It’s why his beard is so short – never grew back quite as fast as the rest of it after that.”

“I was only forty!” Fili shouted, trying to drown out Kili’s hysterical laughter as the rest of the company alternately chuckled and smirked at his expense. Bilbo’s lips quirked up in a smile as he watched their antics from beside Bifur.

“Tha’ doesn’t excuse it, lad. Next thing I know Thorin has dragged him home looking like a drowned rat with half of his face red and his whole beard charred right off. The fool had run about and tried to put the blaze out with his hands and Thorin had dumped him into the quenching barrel.”

“Dis just about had both of our heads for that,” Thorin muttered as he gave himself a shake like a wet dog and ended up drenching both of his nephews all over again.

“And I had to help cut the rest of it off so that it wouldn’t be lopsided and the neighbors kept asking when uncle had adopted a lady dwarf – Fili stop hitting me!”

It dissolved into chaos from there and Bilbo very wisely scooted backwards so that he didn’t get dragged into the fray and end up with a black eye or a bloody nose like the one Dori was already sporting as a result of being hit in the nose with somebody’s knee as the other alternately sought to drag Fili and Kili apart and join in the good-natured tussle. There had been no relief from the strain of travel – no ambushes or orcs or highway bandits on which to test their blades, so in the absence of and real challenge the dwarves turned on each other for satisfaction.

Balin settled himself next to Bilbo and sniffed delicately into a handkerchief that was embroidered with red thread and an ornate capital ‘B’ in one corner.

“Not joining the rest?” Bilbo asked with amusement and scooted an inch to the side so that he could avoid being squashed by Bofur. It looked like Dori had picked him up and thrown him right over the fire. Luckily Bofur seemed to take it in stride because he was up in a moment (albeit covered in dirt) and diving back into the tussle.

“Oh nay lad, I’m too old for such shenanigans. Maybe if I were a hundred years younger I could teach them all a thing or two, but I’m quite content with sitting right here for now.” Oin grunted in agreement from Balin’s other side and the two of them began to discuss the medicinal properties of a good cup of tea.

 _This is what I missed,_ the hobbit mused as he watched the fists and insults fly. Bombur was rolled unceremoniously out of the fight by a well-aimed kick, his massive braid in disarray. The fat dwarf picked himself up with an insulted sniff before retreating to find his trusty pot to make up some supper. _Never a dull moment when you travel with dwarves._ There wasn’t time for sitting down to read a good book, tea time was rare, often times they ate their lunch on the backs of their ponies so that they wouldn’t have to stop as often, and the weather could be downright deplorable.

“What are you smiling about, Halfling?” Thorin had managed to pull himself free and he stumbled over and sank down next to Bilbo. Kili, who had been clinging to one of his uncle’s boots, was dragged right back in again with a cry of despair. Bilbo was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how very warm it was inside the Traveler’s Tree and wrapped his arms around his drawn up knees.

“I was just thinking about how glad I am that I left home.” The first time and this time as well.

“Where you could have been warm and dry and not reeked of horse?” Thorin asked incredulously and his gingerly prodded at a bruise that was already beginning to blossom on his cheekbone courtesy of Ori and his sharp elbows.

“Where I would have been happy to live alone for the rest of my life and been cordial with my neighbors and chase hobbit kits out of my garden. I never would have been able to wrap my head around such an adventure before Gandalf decided to bring you all to my doorstep.” And now it felt like someone had thrown open a window and fresh air was pouring back into him, filling him up from his toes to the tip tops of his curly hair. Refreshing life with all of its wonders and he greeted it as if he was welcoming back an old friend he hadn’t known he was missing.

“Alone?” Thorin asked. “I didn’t see any signs of a companion in your home, but most of the others of your kind that I passed seemed happily paired or had children. No desire to settle down and have…kits, was it?”

 “Me? Kits? Oh heavens no.” Bilbo shook his head with a small smile and Thorin felt himself go a little bit red at the sight of it. The hobbit was downright pretty when he wasn’t moping or looking as grim as if a warg had eaten one of his closest friends. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone – it wouldn’t do for the leader of the company, and especially their king, to start mooning over their burglar. Dwalin would never let him live it down.

“Why not?” The king pressed. “You seem of a proper age for those sorts of things.”

Bilbo gave him a suspicious look, as if he was curious as to why Thorin was prying into his affairs. But once again good manners won out over suspicion. “It was never something I had any interest in. And even if I had…it just wasn’t possible. By the time I found someone – “ The hobbit broke off with a short cry as a shower of sparks was sent up when Nori went tumbling right through the fire.

“ _Dwalin!_ Enough, all of you!” Roared Thorin. The massive dwarf had the good grace to look ashamed of himself as Nori picked himself and beat out the hot embers that clung to his underwear, glaring daggers back at Dwalin. Bombur was complaining about ashes in his soup and Dori was working very hard to pry Ori off of Fili. The scribe had a double handful of the prince’s hair and had been using it as a handle to pull him off of Kili. Everyone froze at their king’s bellow though, and the fight was over in seconds. Luckily the casualties were minor. Oin had Dori’s nose fixed in a moment by stuffing Balin’s nice handkerchief up both of his nostrils, Fili and Kili were both sporting black eyes, and Nori’s eyebrows had come unbraided. But most everyone was smiling and laughing, or at the very least seemed less tightly wound than they had been.

Thorin turned back to Bilbo, but found his burglar in deep conversation with Balin and Gandalf about the use of poppies in medicine, which was something he had no interest in at all. With a quiet grumble, for he had been interested to hear of the hobbit’s past, Thorin turned his attention back to the company. Most of them had gathered around Bombur’s soup pot to dish out their dinner. Nori was giving Dwalin a very cold shoulder and had settled himself between his brothers while he rebraided his hair.

Bilbo laughed as Oin finished a story about a dwarf who had come to him to help cure the boils that had sprung up all over him nearly overnight. It turned out his wife had slipped some certain herbs into his dinner the previous eve because she wanted a break from their usual nighttime exercises. He jumped when a thunderous sneeze rang out next to him and turned to see Thorin rubbing his nose into the blue sleeve of his undershirt. It seemed that even the mighty king wasn’t immune to the effects of the weather.

A moment later a rough piece of cloth was presented to him and Bilbo smiled again as he offered Bofur’s pocket to Thorin. “Handkerchief, your majesty?”

Thorin stared at the scrap of cloth for a moment and then accepted it to mop at his red nose. “Thank you.”

Across the fire, Bifur and Dwalin had pulled out their instruments and the Traveler’s Tree was quickly filled with a merry tune. Bofur cleared his throat and began to sing.

_“If all the young ladies were little white rabbits_

_I'd be a hare and I'd teach 'em bad habits._

_If all the young ladies were sweet fruits and berries_

_I'd handle their melons and nibble their cherries…”_

And the company settled in very comfortably for the rainy night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, I'm afraid that things got rather hectic around here between my birthday, school work, and my mum needing emergency surgery. But here it is and hopefully the next one won't take quite as long! As always, comment and critiques are always welcome.
> 
> The song is 'Roll Your Leg Over' and continues like that for quite a few verses.


	10. How To Keep A Wizard From Wandering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

“It is a very good thing I was fond of your mother, Bilbo, otherwise I might have left you alone at the mercy of those hard-headed dwarves.”

“As she was of you, and I thank you for not, now would you please just listen to me and stay?” Bilbo crossed his arms and scowled up at Gandalf, feeling worried and a little bit sick. “We both know how stubborn they can be about some things and this is and probably always has been one of them.”

The wizard nodded in agreement, and both of the men turned to observe the burned-out shell of a house that the dwarves were currently making into a fit camp. Several of the older dwarves had gathered around Thorin and were casting furtive looks back at Gandalf as if in fear that he would turn them all into cats out of sheer irritation. Bilbo was on the verge of asking him to just so that he wouldn’t have to put up with the never ending mutters about elves. 

“He refuses to go to Rivendell,” Gandalf said, and there was a low anger in his voice that Bilbo had only heard very rarely and a long time ago. It was one of the things that had faded from his mind as if from a dream – that Gandalf could be very fierce and angry when the moment was right. Usually he liked to think of him as a kindly and eccentric gentleman who could simply do a bit of magic when the mood struck him. It took an act of will to recall that the man standing next to him was possibly the second most powerful wizard in middle earth, and he could probably turn the whole lot of them into tabby cats if he was pushed too far. “Lord Elrond could lend us much needed aid on this quest and yet he is too blind to see it.”

Bilbo decided not to mention that he already knew what the map said. For one thing he was looking forward to going back to Rivendell again. For another it would raise serious suspicions if the burglar knew what a map that could only be read by moonlight and was written in ancient dwarf said. If he wanted to remain subtle he would need to learn when the best times to keep his mouth shut were.

“I’ll try to talk to him. I’m not one of his subjects so it’s not as though he can behead me.” The list crinkled in Bilbo’s hand as he pulled it open to look at it. The constant rain had dampened the edges, but none of the ink had run yet and he was grateful for that since he hadn’t brought any ink or quills with him and Ori would no doubt ask what he wanted them for if Bilbo asked to borrow his.

 _And now we come to the chapter with the trolls,_ he mused. And he still had no idea what to do about it.

“Yes, perhaps you can get a bit of sense through that thick skull of his. And what would that be?” Gandalf leaned over his shoulder, looking down his long nose at the rumpled parchment.

Instantly he crumpled back up the paper so that the wizard couldn’t read his neat handwriting. “You told me not to tell you anything unless I needed to, so don’t try to cheat by reading my list either. You wizards always have to meddle in things and you especially. This is my private business and I’ll tell you about it when I think you need to know! Now I’ve already told you not to go stomping off in a huff so let that satisfy you.”

Gandalf looked completely taken aback. “Bilbo Baggins, you sound more like an old man than I think I ever have.”

“Sometimes I feel more like a thousand than one hundred and thirty one.”

A gnarled hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Whether you are fifty or one thousand plus one hundred and thirty one, I know you will do what needs to be done. I’ll stay for your sake since I know you would not ask otherwise. But I will request that you speak to Thorin and see if you can sway him at all in the matter of seeking Lord Elrond’s aid.”

“Yes fine, I’ll talk to him. Before that though, what do you know about mountain trolls?”

__________________________________

Thorin glowered down at his gauntlets as he leaned against one of the crumbling walls of what had once been a farmhouse. Orcs or mercenaries (or trolls as Bilbo knew very well) had probably fallen upon it a while ago since there was already ivy growing up over the crumbling stones. No bodies or bones had been turned up when they searched and he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or not. Orcs were known to eat their victims on occasion and mercenaries quite often dealt in the slave trade. Sometimes there were worse fates than being killed in a raid and he quietly prayed to Mahal that whoever had lived here had received a swift and merciful end. 

“Tho – Master Oakenshield?”

He didn’t jump, but it was a close thing. There had been no sign that the hobbit was coming up beside him and somehow Bilbo had managed to stay right in his blind spot while not making a single sound as he came up. Perhaps those overlarge feet of his were good for something other than collecting mud.

 _Yes, but he washes them every evening, so they’re probably in a better state than half of us_ , he reminded himself. _I can’t remember the last time Dwalin actually took off his boots._ That made him cringe a little bit.

“Mister Baggins,” he acknowledged the big brown eyes that were staring up at him, feeling a little bit uncomfortable beneath the searching gaze. He was positive that the hobbit knew something, but what that something was he couldn’t begin to hazard a guess. There was simply an air about him that lead Thorin to believe that their burglar was hiding something. He’d managed to draw him into conversation last night in the Traveler’s Tree, but that had been a brief exchange and he hadn’t learned anything very useful from it except that his burglar was a bachelor and that there might have been someone he cared about at some point. But the rest remained a mystery and it was a little bit alarming how much he wanted to uncover it. Perhaps Bilbo had a looser mouth around some of the other company members and he made a mental note to question them as to the habits and past of their lone hobbit. Maybe Gandalf knew something.

_But wait, Gandalf is mad enough to rain fire down on your head, so best avoid him until he settles down a bit._

At least Bilbo had kept their wizard from leaving them completely, though he was curious as to how. 

“I expect the wizard sent you over?” He growled and nearly kicked himself for sounding so hostile. Scaring Bilbo off would get him no closer to figuring out why the hobbit looked at them all in the same way he’d seen some dwarves gaze at gold and treasure. With fondness and something that seemed oddly close to love. But why would he? They had begun to travel together barely over a week ago and he would have remembered meeting a Halfling before that. There was simply no reason for it that he could figure out. Yes, he would definitely have to ask the wizard. 

“He suggested it, yes.” Bilbo said quietly and Thorin was the first one to break their eye contact.

“I will not go to Rivendell,” he said, trying to keep his tone firm more than bitter or sulky.

Bilbo pulled his pipe out of his coat pocket and stuffed it was a pinch of sweet hobbit tobacco. He took a deep breath of the smoke and let it slowly drift out of his mouth as they both turned to watch the rest of the company finish setting up camp. Gandalf had settled himself on a mossy stone and seemed to be muttering to himself. Fili and Kili were unloading the packs off of the ponies and Bombur was already digging through one of them in search of a slab of salted pork they were to have as supper. Bifur was chewing on a daisy.

“Alright,” Bilbo said agreeably.

“Don’t try to argue with me Halfling, in this I am firm. You may not be one of my subjects, but as a member of this company you agreed to follow – what?” Thorin frowned, trying to mentally backtrack.

“I said fine.” Bilbo puffed away at his long pipe, his expression mild.

“Didn’t the wizard send you over to convince me to change my mind?”

“Well he did, but judging by the look on your face that would be a pointless effort on my part, wouldn’t it?”

“I – yes. It would.” _Damn this hobbit for being so confusing._

“Well then, I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about.”

They fell into silence, but while Bilbo seemed content with it Thorin quickly found himself struggling to fill it. Why did he feel the need to justify himself to a burglar? He was a king - he answered to no one and acted only on behalf of his subjects.

“Why would I seek aid from those who gave my people none when we needed it the most desperately?”

“You wouldn’t,” came the answer.

“Exactly. Gandalf seems to think that we would be welcome in that accursed city, but I know otherwise. They would seek to detain us and turn me away from my quest to reclaim my homeland.”

“Probably.” A small smoke ring went drifting off with the late afternoon breeze.

 _Curse this hobbit!_ “And there are probably others who can read the map. Others who aren’t elves.”

“Maybe one or two.”

“And we aren’t in need of supplies or aid at the moment so we can bypass it completely and I’ll consider myself better off for it.”

Bilbo just nodded, not seeming to care about his steadfast refusal. “As you wish your majesty.”

For some reason Thorin felt like even though Bilbo was the one agreeing with him the hobbit had still somehow managed to come out on the winning side of their argument. Not that it had been an argument, or he didn’t think there had been.

_But maybe the elves could – no. No, no, and no again._

“Perhaps we should look around to see if there are any signs of more orcs?” Came Bilbo’s soft voice from his elbow.

“I give the commands here, Mister Baggins. I’ll thank you to remember that.” The snapped response made him feel better and worse at the same time and he covered up his discomfort by stalking off through the tall grass, calling to the others to scout the area. He didn’t see the smile that followed after him, though the smell of sweet pipe smoke lingered in his nose for long after.

__________________________________

Bilbo didn’t usually indulge in bad habits, but if he kept finding himself in such stressful situations he may very well take up chewing on his fingernails. So far there had been no sign of any danger, troll-based or otherwise. Several of the dwarves were still out scouting around though and the sun hadn’t quite set yet. As long as there was daylight they were safe, but the sun was dropping lower and lower with each passing minute.

“Bofur, I’m going to go look for Fili and Kili. They’ve been gone for a while and dinner is almost ready. Wouldn’t want them to miss it.”

“Tha’s a good lad, thanks for that. I think I saw ‘em head off into the trees tha’ way. Don’t be too long or Thorin might get worried.”

Bilbo snorted rudely. It had taken all of his patience and experience dealing with fussy hobbit fauntlings not to just snap at the king earlier and tell him that his skull was thicker than Dwalin’s hammer. But arguing with Thorin had never gotten him anywhere except frustrated with a pounding headache, so this time he had been sneaky. Only time would tell if it had paid off. “I wouldn’t count on that if I were you. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Bofur just shrugged and kept stirring the stew pot. Balin came up beside him and they both watched their burglar trot off into the trees and disappear. “That’s something about that hobbit,” murmured Balin and Bofur nodded in agreement.

“He’s seems a good sort though. I don’ think he means to cause trouble.”

“Sometimes trouble comes with good intentions.” The elderly dwarf raised his eyebrows meaningfully

“Och, aye I know. But hopefully his trouble isn’t the bad kind.”

__________________________________

The last rays of sunshine made the trees golden as Bilbo slipped into the forest and around a couple of the ponies. They had been turned loose to graze, but even they seemed to know the dangers that lurked nearby because few of them had strayed more than a few yards into the trees. He patted the flank of Oin’s shaggy gray beast as he moved around it, his eyes searching through the rapidly lengthening shadows for any sign that the brothers might have passed through on their rounds. A burglar he may be, but that didn’t make him a tracker by any stretch of the imagination. After he had returned to the Shire after the deaths of the Durins he had taken to going hunting a few times every summer. Usually he came back with a few fat rabbits and once or twice with a stag he had taken by surprise, but that was usually attributed to luck and stealth more than actual skill. Unless he wanted to risk raising his voice to call out and alert every nasty from here to Rivendell, he would just have to hope that one of the brothers would make a noise that he could follow to them.

No sound broke the silence of the woods and Bilbo paused where he stood, heart hammering. Surely Fili and Kili should have been making some sort of noise? They were hardly the most subtle members of the company.

“Fili? Kili?” He called softly. One of the ponies whickered at him from a nearby bramble but there was no reply from either brother.

“This is just what I need,” Bilbo muttered as he ducked around a stump, scanning the trees for signs of life. “Ponies, trolls, wizards, and now this. If I had a copper penny for every time – oh.”

That solved the mystery of where the brother had gotten off to. Both of them were sprawled at the foot of a gnarled old tree with their legs stretched out in front of them. Kili’s head was pillowed on Fili shoulder and both of them were snoring softly. Kili’s coat was stretched out over their legs.

“I suppose there hasn’t been much time for rest,” Bilbo murmured as he walked up. The brothers had been working harder than most to prove to Thorin that they were worthy members of the company and clearly it had begun to catch up with them. Bilbo would have happily left them to sleep if it hadn’t been for the prickling feeling that was crawling down the back of his neck. It was far too dangerous here to be unaware for even a few short minutes.

“No wonder you lost the ponies.” He said, coming to a stop in front of them with his hands proper on his hips. It would have been funny to watch their eyes snap open if he hadn’t been so worried for them a minute ago.

“B-Bilbo! W-we were just – just, um…um…This isn’t what it looks like.” Kili leapt to his feet so quickly that Fili tilted sideways into the leaves with a yelp.

Bilbo just gave him a flat look, eyes traveling from the leaves caught in his mused hair to where Fili was climbing to his feet with a yawn. “So what is it?”

“Give it up brother, we’ve been found out by the burglar.” Fili scrubbed his face with both hands. “We just snuck away for a quick pre-dinner nap, you know? It’s tiring being on the road this much and Thorin wouldn’t look too favorably on resting when there’s work to be done.”

“It was just for a few minutes,” Kili agreed.

“Well your few minutes are up. Now let’s round up the ponies and head back for dinner. I’m starving.”

“You know, Bilbo,” Kili sounded like he had been thinking and that was never a good thing.

“No, I most certainly do not know. What were you thinking sneaking away for a nap! There’s all manner of horrible things out here and you could have gotten yourselves killed.” Bilbo didn’t have to work very hard to hold on to his righteous indignation, but the looks the brothers were giving each other in the dark were making him nervous.

“You’ve been traveling with us for a while now,” Fili said, as if Bilbo hadn’t spoken at all.

“And we were just wondering…“ Continued Kili.

Fili had stepped up close enough behind the hobbit that he could feel the heat of him through his coat and it made the hair on the back of his neck nearly uncurl. “If you might like to, maybe - “

“I most certainly would not!” Bilbo said quite loudly, pushing himself away from the two dwarves who were grinning at him like twin cats who had found a mouse. “I don’t care what you dwarves do in your own time, but don’t drag me into it. That’s a whole barrel full of trouble that I don’t need.”

“No need to shout about it,” said Fili, still looking amused. “It was just a harmless invitation. I’m sure we could all have a bit of fun together.”

Bilbo shook himself. “I’m not interested in a bit of fun. You need to get back to camp before you miss dinner.” And before a troll came along and decided to have them all as a snack.

“I think he’s protesting too much, Brother,” murmured Kili and Fili nodded in agreement. Bilbo made a sound like a tea kettle boiling over and they both laughed. “Come on then, we’ll go back before our burglar explodes.” They each slung an arm around one of his shoulders as they started back for camp and Bilbo resisted giving each of them a good, hard pinch.

“We couldn’t have any fun with him if he went and did that.”

“Exactly. What was it you were saying about ponies, Bilbo?”

A thundering crash split the air in front of them as an entire tree was uprooted and toppled over inches from their boots. Instantly Bilbo seized both brothers by their hair and dragged them into the shadow of it, ignoring their cries of pain. They were quickly silenced when a troll the size of a small hill went tromping by, a struggling pony held under each of his fat arms. The troll stank of sweat and blood and something rotten and it was enough to make them all retch silently as he passed within mere feet of them. The two dwarves and the hobbit watched him go with wide eyes, covered in dirt and leaves from the upturned tree. Only when the monster had disappeared around one side of a boulder did they cautiously stand again.

“I told you that you’d lost them!” Snapped Bilbo.

The brothers just stared at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get to the adventurous parts! Everybody grab your towel and your walking stick.


	11. Plotting Over Ponies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

It was decided that Bilbo would stay and keep an eye on the trolls and try to stall for time if they tried to eat the ponies while Fili and Kili ran back to fetch help.

“But Bilbo, you’re our official burglar. Can’t you just sneak in and burgle back the ponies?” Kili had asked while they crouched behind a mossy boulder.

On the other side of it they could hear the trolls, all three of them. They were sitting around a large fire made of beech logs and there was a spit over it that had several legs of mutton hanging on it. The fat from the meat was dripping off and collecting in an iron pot that was big enough that Bilbo and most of his neighbors could have comfortably bathed in it. The trolls sat all around it with jugs of some frothy sort of drink in barrels at their sides. They were giant creatures, bigger even than Bilbo had remembered or described them in the book he had written about his adventure. Being up a bit too close for comfort had quickly refreshed his memory and he also quickly recalled that he didn’t want to be anywhere near any of the three of them because they were all equally horrible.

“I cannot and I will not!” Bilbo had hissed back, pitching his voice so that it would be unlikely that they’d be overheard. “If I’m captured I’ll be sat on and squashed into jelly. Go get Gandalf and the rest of the company and then we can figure out a better plan than ‘send the burglar to fetch the ponies’.”

That had been the end of it and Fili and Kili had gotten up and run into the dark trees as quietly as they could, which wasn’t very quietly at all. Luckily the sound of them crashing through the underbrush was lost in the whinnies of the captured ponies and the arguing of the trolls.

“Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrer,” grumbled one of the trolls (his name was Bert and he wasn’t at all fond of mutton) as he looked at the meat cooking on the spit with a bit of distaste. Bilbo, who had climbed up onto the boulder so that he could pear over the top of it, caught a whiff of the cooking meat and it made his stomach growl. No doubt the roasts would be perfectly lovely if they were cut up properly and put into a pie, but that was hardly relevant at the moment. If he was spotted the trolls would no doubt take it into consideration and then add him to such a pie as a bit of hobbit-flavored filler.

“Quit your gripping! These ain’t sheep. These is fresh nags!” Said William (who preferred to be called Bill by his friends and family) with a bit of glee. Clearly the trolls had been eating sheep for a while, accented with a certain farmer and his family Bilbo recalled grimly.  

“Oh. I don’t like horse, never have. Not enough fat on them.” Bert grumbled as the third troll (Tom) pulled one of the sheep legs off of the spit and took a massive bite out of it. It was still raw enough on the inside that the juices were pink and ran down his chin, making sharp hissing noises as the dripped into the fire.

When Bilbo felt a hand at his back he nearly jumped out of his skin, but it was only Bofur.

“What’cha find, Bilbo? Oi, Bifur, the hobbits found himself a trio of trolls!” This was all said very quietly. Dwarves may have been very brave and good in battle, but taking on three full grown mountain trolls at once was a bit of an undertaking even for thirteen of them, plus a hobbit and a wizard. The rest of the company was gathered at the base of the boulder on which Bilbo lay, with the exception of Bombur and Oin since they had stayed behind to keep an eye on their camp and the remaining ponies. Fili and Kili were both rubbing their ears as if someone had twisted them very hard and Bilbo didn’t feel sorry for them at all. They deserved it for wandering off into the dark when they knew that there was danger around. And he most certainly wasn’t thinking about what they had been up to at all – it wasn’t his business for all that they had invited him to join.

Bifur crawled up on Bilbo’s other side and grunted, looking down at the trolls with extreme dislike. Trolls and dwarves never seemed to get on well, no doubt because trolls didn’t mind eating dwarves when they could get them and keeping their possessions in their smelly hoards, where even now a certain set of elven blades that Bilbo was very keen to get his hands on rested. If it hadn’t been for those swords he might have tried to lead the company away from the trolls completely. Sadly he hadn’t been able to think of a way around that and there was no way to get at the cave without alerting the trolls to their presence. So a new plan would have to be concocted.

The hobbit slid down and boulder and landed lightly on his feet directly in front of Thorin. The king took a step back and just frowned, clearly not at all pleased about finding such trouble so close to their camp.

“There are three trolls,” Bilbo said gesturing back to the boulder that concealed them from view. “And they’ve nabbed our ponies and I think they plan to eat them. We’ve got to do something.”

“I suggested he burgle them back,” said Kili, but was silenced by an elbow in his gut from his brother and doubled over gasping for breath.   

“Don’t be a fool,” said Balin, who looked like he wanted to smack Kili over the head but Fili had beaten him to the pleasure of the abuse. “Risking our burglar against mountain trolls would be the height of idiocy. Clearly I’ve taught you nothing.”

“Yes, because risking me against a dragon is so much better,” Bilbo muttered sarcastically and he could have sworn he heard Thorin and Dwalin both snort.

Nori was crouched cat-like in a branch of a tree, his eyes glittering in the dark as he looked over the trolls and took stock of the situation. After a moment he swung down and landed squarely on top of Dwalin, prompting the massive dwarf to growl and do his best to dislodge him. “Bilbo might have had a chance against one troll, but not three. There’s a cave in the thicket behind them and trolls usually have a good haul from those whose bones they’ve used to pick their teeth.” Several members of the company winced at that description, as if they were imagining their own arms or legs being used for such a grizzly purpose. Nori executed a perfect flip off of Dwalin and landed in a perfect crouch next to Dori, who gave him the annoyed look that seemed reserved for younger brothers the world over.  

“One of Bifur’s war mates got himself offed by a troll,” Bofur whispered to Bilbo. “Poor sod. We think he was out scoutin’ and ran across one. We got a band together and killed the beast but it was too late for old Andor. Found his old spear in its hoard.” He nodded at the boar spear that Bifur had in a white-knuckled grip.

“There are not enough of us to deal with three trolls in combat,” Gandalf said quietly from the back of the group and everyone turned to look at him, a denial on every tongue but Bilbo’s. “Do not argue with me in this. I may be able to handle or two, but should they manage to capture even one of you they would be beyond our aid. I do not suggest a suicidal rush this early on in our journey.” Bilbo shot the wizard a relieved look. Hopefully this time he wouldn’t end up in a sack that smelled very strongly of rancid meat.

“So what do ye’ suggest?” Muttered Dwalin. “We jus’ let ‘em keep the ponies and go on our merry way?”

There was instantly a chorus of denials from the other dwarves, since none of them wanted to be the ones forced to walk while the others rode. In comparison to hobbits, dwarves tended to have smaller and softer feet. Even in their heavy boots walking for days on end could leave them footsore and grumpy. Bilbo almost suggested that he be the one to walk because it would be more comfortable for his poor backside, but decided that the offer wouldn’t change any minds and stayed silent instead.

“I do not suggest that, Master Dwalin, and if you will all be silent for a minute I’ll explain my plan.”

 _Thank Yavanna he has a plan,_ Bilbo thought in relief.

“What I have in mind will require someone quick and quiet who in isn’t prone to panic in a pinch,” continued the wizard.

It took a minute for Bilbo to realize that everyone was looking at him.

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a fairly short chapter but rest assured that I'm working on the next one already so it shouldn't take too long! Poor Bilbo, at least you didn't get sneezed on.


	12. Running Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Physical Danger, Emotional Pain

Everything went quiet when the hobbit walked into the middle of the troll camp.

Not right away of course since the trolls didn’t actually notice that Bilbo was standing there until he very loudly cleared his throat so that he could be heard over the talking and shouting and horrible jokes and the crackling of the fire.

Bert noticed him first and frowned down at him. “Ere, ‘oo are you?” He grunted. This got the attention of the other two and Bilbo found himself under close scrutiny by three very confused trolls. Clearly they weren’t used to having folk walk right into their camp since no creature with two brains to rub together would have done such an incredibly dense thing. So rather than snatching him up and stuffing him in a sack, Tom rubbed the top of his bald head and Bill kept chewing on his mouthful of mutton.

“Ah, I-I’m Bilbo Baggins.” Stuttered Bilbo. He hadn’t liked this plan of Gandalf’s at all because it had a high chance that he would end up getting himself tossed straight into the soup pot along with the mutton drippings.

“It’s all about the element of surprise,” Gandalf had said. “Trolls aren’t the smartest of creatures and they won’t be expecting it.”

Some of the dwarves hadn’t been happy at all about letting their burglar walk into such a dangerous situation, but since no one else had stepped forward with a better plan they had finally agreed with Gandalf in the end, albeit with a fair amount of muttering and grumbling. Bofur and Fili and Kili had been particularly vocal about not wanting Bilbo to be eaten by trolls and it had given the hobbit a very warm feeling in the area of his belly.  It was nice to feel wanted. Thorin had looked as surly as ever so it was hard to tell how he felt about the entire thing, but Bilbo had noticed that the line between his eyes was a little bit deeper than usual. Of course that might have just been because of the trolls.

Clearly Gandalf had been right about the element of surprise because none of the trolls had made any sort of threating movement towards him yet, but Bilbo was sure it was just a matter of time before they started wondering if he was edible. Even though he knew that there were several dwarves hiding in the dark, bristling with weapons and ready to jump to his aid should something go wrong, Bilbo couldn’t help the shiver of pure terror that went up his spine when Bert stood up, a rusty paring knife as long as a sword clutched in one meaty hand.

“Is ‘e a dwarf?” Called over Bill.

“Nah, too small for a dwarf, not enough ‘air.” The knife was jabbed in his general direction and he jumped back a step so as not to be skewered on it.

“I think ‘es a rabbit. Look’it ‘is feet.” Tom picked up his barrel of ale, took a long drink, and then belched loudly enough to put any of the dwarves to shame.

“I’m not a rabbit!” Bilbo replied, feeling a bit hot under the collar. He had nearly had it with being referred to as a rabbit. He’d faced down dragons and escaped from elves and gotten twelve dwarves all the way to Erebor. Was it too much to ask for a little bit of respect for that? Of course nobody here knew that he had done any of those things because technically he hadn’t yet, so perhaps he should have just resigned himself to the comparison. “I’m a skin changer!”

“A skin changer?” Bert repeated, looking more than a little flummoxed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a skin changer,” piped up Tom, who still wasn’t very keen on eating any mutton. “Are they good in a soup?”

Bert looked at Bilbo. “Is ye good in soup, rabbit skin changer thing?” He gestured very meanly with his knife as if to convince Bilbo that trying to escape would be a very bad idea.

Luckily Bilbo had no plans to go anywhere just yet, since turning tail and bolting hadn’t been part of Gandalf’s plan. “I-I don’t know, I’ve never been in a soup before. But I haven’t bathed recently so probably not. I’d taste like dirt and other horrid things.”

“Eh, let the little rabbit thing go,” grumbled Bill. He was very full of his own dinner and didn’t much feel like exerting himself to catching Bilbo. “He wouldn’t make more than a mouthful, not when he was skinned and boned.”

“That doesn’t seem pleasant at all,” commented Bilbo, sticking his hands into his pockets so that they wouldn’t sweat quite so profusely. Damn Gandalf and his plans! They always seemed to involve getting unfortunate hobbits into quite a lot of trouble.

“Shut your trap,” snapped Tom. “I want to eat him – I’ve never ‘ad skin changer before.”

“Do ye’ taste like rabbit?” Asked Bert and Bilbo nearly passed out at the foulness of his breath. “Might be nice if we held ‘im over the fire and roasted ‘im right up, even if ‘e does look a bit scrawny.”

“Poor little blighter, let ‘im go Bert!” It seemed like Bill had gone much further into his drink than the others because sober trolls were not in the habit of letting anything they catch go, even if it wasn’t very good for eating.

“No, I want to know if there’s more of these here rabbit changers around and then maybe we can make ‘em into a pie.” Bilbo just barely dodged under the meaty hand that was reaching for him to pick him up by his hair.

“I do like pie!” Tom was standing up now but was swiftly knocked back by Bill’s fist in his eyes.

“Sit down and eat your mutton. Bert! Drop ‘im!” clearly Bill didn’t think very much of having his mutton looked down upon by his two companions in favor of a skin changer who wouldn’t properly feed any of them.

“I haven’t got him you filthy fat-headed –“

It all went downhill from there because Bert put his foot into Bill’s gut and Tom got up and tripped over them both and fell into the fire with a yelp. It all dissolved into quite a row that went on for nearly an hour. Bilbo simply stood off to the side where he wasn’t likely to be trod upon and watched with a detached sort of bemusement. He was paid so little attention that at one point Bifur came around the corner, handed him a bowl of stew, and then went back to hiding again. Bilbo slowly ate it while he watched the trolls fight and wondered if perhaps the rest of Gandalf’s plan wouldn’t be necessary at all if the trolls simply fought all the way until dawn.

Of course that would have been far too convenient. A couple minutes after Bilbo had finished his dinner Bert looked up and spotted him. “You still ‘ere?”

That seemed to be the sign the other two needed to stop pulling at each other’s ears and look over as well. “What kind of skin changer ‘is you anyway?” Bill grunted, pulling his leg out of Tom’s hands.

“A very good one,” Bilbo replied. “I can turn into eleven dwarves as well as a hobbit, as you see.”

“What’s a hobbit?” Tom’s nose was bleeding a horrible sort of ichor.

“Do you have different flavors for all of those shapes?” Interrupted Bert as he looked around for where he’d left his knife.

Now Bill looked interested too. “I wouldn’t mind tryin’ a bite if he tasted like all that though I don’t much like dwarf.”

“Better than mutton,” grumped Bert, who had found his paring knife lying next to the fire and snatched it up. “Come ‘ere rabbit dwarf shifter thing an’ I’ll make sure it don’t hurt too much.”

Bilbo took another step backwards towards the dark trees, his heart once again racing in his chest. If this didn’t work he could end up skewered and then he couldn’t help anyone. “No, I don’t think I want to be killed today, so very sorry. Good evening!” And with that he sprinted off into the trees, his feet almost silent in the fallen leaves and his coat flapping behind him. Instantly there was an almighty din behind him as all three trolls gave chase, nearly climbing over each other in their haste to capture the hobbit.

The forest was dark and cool as he raced further away from the firelight, the trolls slowly gaining on him. They had the advantage of longer legs and no doubt would have caught him right away if it weren’t for the trees. Many of them were large enough that they were not knocked right over when the trolls rammed into them, but rather creaked and pushed back and forced them to go around. It was with only inches to spare that Bilbo dove down behind a log.

Out sprang Ori, whose legs had begun to cramp horribly while he had been hiding, and he took off running back towards the camp fire and away from where Bilbo now lay with his face pressed in the dirt under the log.

“Oi!” Cried Burt since he was in the front. “He turned into a dwarf!”

“Guess ‘e really is a skin changer,” agreed Bill, making a swipe at Ori as he ran by. Luckily Ori was too quick for him and managed to duck right under the troll’s arm with a small yelp before running even faster.

“Well get ‘im!” Shouted Tom and all three turned about as quickly as they could and took off after Ori.

From where he was hiding under the tree Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. The other dwarves were hidden all around the troll’s camp site and it wasn’t too long before he heard another shout of surprise that told him Ori had made it to where Gloin was hiding and the trolls were now chasing after him instead.

The was a slight sound of leaves being crunched under boots and then Thorin was kneeling next to the log. “Burglar?” He said softly. From the distance there was a furious roar as Gloin traded places with Bifur, who had probably given one of the trolls a swift slash with his boar spear as he ran by.

“Yes, I’m here.” Bilbo wriggled out from under the log and did his best to brush some of the leaves off of his coat. Originally Dwalin had insisted that Thorin not be one of the ones to bait the trolls, but his denials had been quickly squashed when Thorin had declared that he would not send any member of his company into a situation that he would not face himself.

The only light came from the far off campfire now, so it was hard for Bilbo to see anything more than a vague shape in a fur-lined cloak. Even that made him feel a bit odd though. Ever since his revelation he had done his best to pretend that everything was normal, or at least as normal as things could be between a king and a burglar. It was easier to keep up appearances when he didn’t have to interact with Thorin very often so he had been doing his best to stay by the Ri brothers or other members of the company rather than risk ending up by Thorin. It was hard enough to watch himself so often with regards to the magic that had sent him back – not revealing how much he knew or simply breaking down completely and spilling the entire secret. Now it was compounded by having to hide even more. Hobbits didn’t fall for kings. They were a grounded people who wanted nothing more from life than a good harvest and seven meals a day.

But somewhere along the line he had stopped being a normal, grounded hobbit. Maybe he should have realized this a long time ago, after he returned and his neighbors declared him ‘odd’. When he wasn’t content to live in his books anymore and instead went out seeking stories on pony back with his nephew riding on his lap. They had spoken with elves traveling through Bree, sent letters with Ravens to the dwarves to ask for news of Erebor. His parties had been loud and filled with all sorts of curious folk, wizards and rangers alike. And yet never had he suspected that he had been so changed as to fall in love.

Had he simply been ignoring the empty space? It had snuck up on him several times before, leaving him cold and empty while he had looked out of his window in the Shire as if he expected a tall, strong figure to come striding up the walk and demand that his burglar return to the mountain. But he never had.

 _I suppose I left my heart buried with him under the mountain and then forgot I ever had one to begin with_ , Bilbo mused as he looked at Thorin in the dark. Some part of him wanted to reach out and grab the king, to pull him close and somehow prove that this was all real, that he was alive and not a cold shell like the one he had left behind. The sensible Baggins side of him quickly squashed that urge and reminded him that no matter what he might have felt, Thorin had not returned it.

_And he never will, so quit imagining that you’re the hero of this story. This isn’t about you and it never was. You’re simply here to help where you can and when it’s over… You’ll go home._

It nearly broke his heart.

“You did well. I know many a dwarf who would have quailed before such a task.” Thorin shifted in order to make himself a bit more comfortable on the leaves.

Bilbo kept his back pressed against the log and pinched himself very very hard to bring himself back to the present. “It’s no bother, I’m glad that I could be of service. I suppose it’s what I signed the contract for.”

“I’m not certain the contract mentioned playacting for trolls,” Thorin replied and Bilbo heard the hint of humor in his usually dour voice.

“Maybe not, but – oh, here they come!” In a flash he was back under the log and Thorin was behind a tree. Kili dashed by, his eyes wide as trolls came roaring down on his heels and only just barely managed to trade places with his uncle before the trolls were upon them. One of the trolls hit the tree with a resounding crack that seemed to shake the whole forest. It toppled over with a groan and the sound of snapping wood and all Bilbo could do was watch with horror as it came crashing down and Thorin took off into the dark with the trolls shouting foul words after him as they struggled to keep up with the ‘skin changer’.

As soon as they had turned around again to chase after the hobbit-turned-dwarf Bilbo was scrambling for the tree. “Kili!” He hissed. “Kili! Are you alright?”

There was a moan from under the tree and it wasn’t at all like the one he had heard earlier. The young dwarf had been pinned under one of the heavier branches and was held fast to the leaves. Bilbo crouched next to his head and tried to assess the damage, ignoring the shouts of the trolls and the cries of pain as one of them must have dashed through the fire. Kili’s face was bleach white in the dark and he had a scratch over one of his eyes. “Stuck,” he whispered hoarsely, grabbing at Bilbo’s wrists and looking at him with fearful eyes. “You have to – Fili! Help!”

“It’s alright, don’t worry. Gandalf will help and then we can get Dwalin and Dori to lift this off of you. Just stay quiet and we’ll get you out of this. Fili is fine, I’m sure he is. Those trolls could never catch him.”

“Bilbo please – please find him. Please!” Kili was starting to hyperventilate, but Bilbo couldn’t tell if it was from the weight of the tree or fear for his brother. This had all been a game so far, even finding the dead on the side of the road hadn’t dimmed their enthusiasm. If anything it had only increased their appetite for danger and bloodshed. Now that there was real danger he could practically hear the gears clicking together in Kili’s skull. Somebody might actually get hurt. They might _die_ if they weren’t careful.

“I’ll go fetch Fili,” he reassured Kili, trying to get his wrists free of the bruisingly hard grip. “Don’t worry. This will all be over soon and then we can get this tree off of you. Just stay there.” He received a short nod in reply and Kili finally let go. Bilbo couldn’t help but notice how very young he seemed in the dim firelight, barely more than a frightened child. The hobbit couldn’t help reaching out and setting a cold hand against his face. “I’ll find him. I promise.”

Then he was off, dashing through the dark as quickly as he could, desperately trying to remember where Fili had been sent to hide. Behind the boulder? No, that was Bofur. Nori was by the cave, Dwalin was up in the lowest branches of the twisted tree…In his haste he didn’t watch where he was going and his only warning was a panicked shout of “Bilbo!” from Dori as the trolls came roaring down upon him from across the clearing. This time he wasn’t fast enough to escape the outstretched hand that came at him.

“Got ‘im!” Cried Tom as he snatched up Bilbo in one meaty hand and gave him a hard squeeze. Bilbo couldn’t even scream as all the air was forced out of him. “Finally got you, nasty little skin rabbit thing!”

“I say we stick ‘im on a spit and roast ‘im up.” Said Burt, limping up to peer down at Bilbo. Apparently it had been his ankles that Bifur had slashed. There was the sound of crashing in the woods as the other dwarves raced to try to save their burglar, but it seemed hopeless. Already spots were beginning to swim in front of Bilbo’s eyes as he was suffocated in the troll’s grip. _But I promised…_ He thought dimly.

“I say we toss ‘im in the soup pot! He’ll go further that way,” complained Bill, who’d had more than enough with running around in the dark for one evening.

“That’s quite enough of that!” Cried a fourth voice and all of the trolls turned to look at the tall wizard who had appeared on top of a boulder.

“Whoozat?” Asked Burt.

“I dunno,” replied Bill.

“Can we eat ‘im too?” Asked Tom.

With a mighty blow Gandalf brought his staff down on the boulder and it cracked in two, sending the first rays of morning light spilling right between the halves. Instantly the trolls howled with pain as their skin began to crackle and turn to granite wherever the light touched it. Bilbo finally got his first real breath as Tom’s fingers loosed, but no matter how he wriggled he couldn’t get free because the troll’s hand had already become completely petrified. It only took a few seconds for the trolls to turn completely to stone and once they had there was a long moment where everything seemed to go completely still. There was only the sound of birdsong above the trees.

And then there came the dwarves.

“Bilbo!” Bofur came dashing up and pulled frantically on one of Bilbo’s feet in an effort to dislodge him at only made him squeak as his abused ribs were jostled in the stone grip of the troll.

“Stop pulling, I’m stuck!” He cried and this seemed to be the signal for the rest of the dwarves to come running out of whatever hiding place they’d been crouched or stuck up in. Some of them were quite a ways out and it took them longer to make it back and some had been much closer since they had come running to try to help originally for all the good it had done. “Fili!” He cried when he saw the blonde dwarf come crawling out of where he’d been hiding in a blackberry bush. “Kili is stuck under a tree that way; you have to go help him!”

Fili went pale and ran off, shouting at the top of his lungs for his brother, followed closely by Dwalin and Ori and Dori. Thorin hadn’t come back either, so Bilbo assumed he had doubled back to check on his nephew.

“Bilbo Baggins, what have you gotten yourself into?” Gandalf asked mildly as he came around one side of a stone troll and regarded the hobbit with something close to amusement.

“A troll’s hand, please help me out,” he squeaked and Gandalf began to laugh which wasn’t helpful at all. The rest of the dwarves mostly milled around, unsure of what to do, and Bofur was worrying his hat between his hands and looking quite distressed.

“I can chop him right out,” Gloin offered, hefting his axe.

“No thank you, Master Gloin, I don’t think that will be necessary,” reassured the wizard.

In the end no axes were needed to get Bilbo free. Gandalf tapped his staff against Tom’s stone hand and two of the fingers crumbled away, leaving Bilbo free to slide out. His clothes were rumpled and he had scrapes on his back where the stone had chaffed him, but at least he hadn’t been shoved in a sack or used as a tissue.

“Well,” he said cheerfully as he brushed himself off. “I think that went rather well.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kili muttered as the rest of the dwarves made their way back into the clearing. He was still bleeding sluggishly from the cut on his face and he was holding his ribs as if they pained him, but Fili had his arm around his brother’s waist and was helping him along well enough. Thorin looked like a thundercloud.

“What happened to the plan?” He bellowed and Bilbo took a step backwards despite himself, his eyes darting around as if searching for some place to hide. Sadly Bifur was too far away for him to duck behind so all he could do was ball his hands into fists and pray that he’d be left with a small shred of dignity. “You were to stay hidden and let the rest of us handle the trolls!”

“He was trying to help me, uncle,” Kili called, looking like he wanted to start forward but was stopped by Fili’s hold on him.

“I’ll be dealing with you later!” Thorin snarled at his nephew and both of them shrank back behind one of the troll’s legs. “You were nearly killed because of your stupidity!” He rounded back on Bilbo again. “I should have known that you would be as senseless as the rest of your wretched kind.”

Bilbo flinched in pain. Luckily that was when Gandalf stepped between the two of them, breaking the line of sight with his long gray robes. “Now now, there was no harm done in the end except for a couple of bumps and bruises. Remember that Bilbo was also the one who baited the trolls in the first place and I’m sure he only meant to help Kili in the end. It all turned out for the best though! Now, why don’t we see about that cave that Nori saw earlier.”

The rest of the dwarves all murmured in agreement and began to pick their way across the destroyed campsite towards where the troll hoard lay in the dark, damp cave. Even Thorin followed after leveling a final dark look at Bilbo.

 _He was always like this,_ Bilbo tried to remind himself but it didn’t stop his fists from shaking at his sides as he stood rooted to the spot. _Always hard and quick to anger when something didn’t go right. You should have expected it, really._

That small reassurance did nothing to stop the two fat tears of hurt that slid down his cheeks and fell silently into the leaves. But there was a warm hand at the small of his back and he blinked blearily back at Dori. The matronly dwarf smiled down at him and then took his hand. “It will be alright, Bilbo. You’ll see.” And together they walked back to join the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this chapter to have feels, I swear! It just sort of...happened. Anyway, enjoy!


	13. Much Ado About Wargs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Battle, Bloodshed

_‘As senseless as the rest of your wretched kind!’_

It was easy for Bilbo to avoid Thorin after that. Rather than joining Dori and heading into the cave with the others he decided to go back and round up the ponies instead. Calls of ‘Nori, get a shovel!’ followed him as he tromped off into the brush, stepping over splintered branches that had been knocked down during the troll’s rampage. Considering his insides felt like they had turned into a writhing, hissing mass of snakes Bilbo wasn’t surprised that he felt a little bit sick.

_What did you really expect? Thorin always did have a fearsome temper and clearly that was one of the things you forgot while you were busy getting too old to brush your own feet. Just because you’ve had a revelation about your previous feelings for him doesn’t mean that suddenly everything will be spring rain and apples. He isn’t the dwarf you fell for yet._

And if he kept changing things maybe he never would be.

“Mister Baggins!” Came a voice from behind him and for a moment Bilbo was tempted to pretend that he hadn’t heard and just keep walking. But his mother had always taught him to avoid being petty because it encouraged other sorts of bad behavior, so he stopped and did his best not to sigh as Ori came up next to him. “Where are you going? Everyone says that the cave is full of marvelous things, don’t you want to see?”

“No Ori, I do not wish to see. I’ve had quite enough of dwarves for one day and I don’t need to make it worse by coming between them and their treasure. I’m going to fetch the ponies so that they don’t all bolt off.”

Oin and Bombur had joined the others when they heard about the troll hoard, so the ponies were being left to their own devices along with most of the gear. It would be no hardship to gather them all up while the others crooned over the troll’s riches.

“Oh. I’ll go with you in that case! I don’t think there would be anything for me in that cave anyway.” Ori seemed to be in very high spirits considering he had been chased all about by monsters not long ago.

“Aren’t you interested in gold, Ori?” Bilbo asked curiously as he ducked under a branch and caught Minty by her bridal as she chomped at some short grass at the edge of the trees. The roars and noise the trolls had caused in the night had made most of the shaggy beasts huddle closer together and just made them easier to round up. The packs lay undisturbed back at their camp and Bilbo quickly stomped out the remains of the night’s fire and poured some water on it to extinguish the coals.

“Not particularly. My family was never miners nor did we work in the gem trade in Erebor according to Dori. I suppose we don’t have the same desire for it as some dwarves might so I don’t need to go getting my mittens dirty in that horrible place. Besides,” he added as he collected the reins of the three of the ponies and Gandalf’s horse, “it smells bad in there.”

Bilbo was startled into a laugh at that. “Yes, yes it does. I’ll take ponies and fresh air over death and rot any day.” Bilbo stuck his ring finger into his mouth and sucked on it. Over the course of the last day or two the cut he had gotten on the nail back at the massacre site had got red and a bit swollen and itchy. It was nothing to fret over but he would have preferred not to have it at all. That was the trouble with going on adventures – they were never as comfortable as you thought they would be.

It only took them a few minutes to round up all of the ponies, get them settled with their packs, and make sure nothing had been left behind. Ori found Bofur’s pipe in the grass and stashed in in the miner’s bag so that it wouldn’t be forgotten.

They spoke amiably on the way back to join the others and by the time they had made it most of the way Bilbo felt nearly back to normal. The aching hollowness in his chest had eased somewhat, helped along by good company and soft words. Ori had always been the shy type, preferring to stay in the shadows of his more overwhelming brothers rather than bring attention on himself. Bilbo knew how to tempt the youngest Ri into conversation though and they laughed about tea and what feathers made the best quills. Perhaps proving that he did indeed have a bit of tact, Ori stayed away from the topic of Thorin and his outburst. They lead the line of ponies into the clearing and left them standing next to the stone trolls.

“Ah, there you are Bilbo. We were wondering where you and young Ori had gone off to, but now it seems that you were thinking a bit ahead of the rest of us.” Gandalf walked over, his long robes swishing behind him. The hem had a bit of dirt and grime on it from where he had been exploring in the cave and in one hand he held a very familiar dagger. “Here. This is about your size.”

“I was just doing what needed to be done,” Bilbo replied softly as he accepted the weapon from the wizard. The sheath, though and covered in dirt and cobwebs, was as familiar to him as his own hands and something that felt ‘right’ snapped into place in his chest. Now he felt a step closer to being complete again because what was a proper burglar without his blade?  

“Thank you, Gandalf.”

“The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby.”

“Yes, it helps when one is being snuck up on I imagine,” Bilbo replied as he drew the blade and took a few practice swings. He had kept in practice with It for a little while once he return to the Shire, but without a proper sparring partner or enemy to practice on his skills had quickly deteriorated. He wasn’t exactly flailing wildly with it, but his form was sloppy and his footwork was almost nonexistent. Even so Ori took a quick step backwards so that he wasn’t close enough to be accidentally stabbed.

“Do you have much experience with a blade, Mister Baggins?” He asked, watching as Bilbo sheathed the sword and began to hook it onto his belt.

“Just Bilbo please, my father was Mister Baggins. And I do a little bit. More with kitchen knives I must confess but somehow I don’t think those will do me much good against anything we come across out here unless it needs to be nicely diced.” 

Gandalf chuckled and leaned on his staff, not at all concerned about being near an armed hobbit. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about your culinary skills here, Bilbo. Our foes aren’t exactly the type to let their prisoners go on account of their salad-making skills.”

“What about roast chicken?” Bilbo asked with a smile and Ori snorted into his mittens.

“Nor that, though I think several members of our company might be convinced. But please remember Bilbo, now that you are properly equipped. True courage is about knowing not when to take a life but to spare one.” With that the wizard turned and made his way back over to join in the discussion about what was to be done next. It seemed, from what Bilbo could overhear, that Thorin was still set against seeking aid in Rivendell but at least he wasn’t shouting about it.

“Something’s comin’!” Bellowed Dwalin as he scooped up his war hammer and looked towards the trees. There was indeed a crashing noise coming from within the forest, as if something large was moving towards them at a great pace. Bilbo did his best to look as alarmed as the rest as they drew their weapons, but it was hard to manage when he knew what was coming. It felt like reading the last chapter of a book first so he knew what was going to happen before everyone who was reading it the proper way and hadn’t cheated.

Not that he had really cheated, but Bilbo had to admit that he had a distinct advantage over the rest.

So when Radagast the Brown burst out of the bushes on a sled towards by rabbits the size of hounds Bilbo was the only one who didn’t look surprised. He stayed over by the ponies with one hand tangled in Myrtle’s mane, wondering if they could perhaps talk on the road rather than waiting around for the orcs to catch up with them. Already his skin was beginning to prickle, knowing that they drew closer with each breath he drew.

“ _Thieves! Fire! Murder!”_

Fili and Kili slunk over to join Ori and Bilbo while the rest were occupied with either staring at the oddball wizard who had just spat out a bug or listening as he spoke to Gandalf about the trouble and danger that had come to the Greenwood. Bilbo only listened with half an ear so that he could refresh himself on the current situation.

“He’s a bit…” Fili cleared his throat, searching for the right word.

“Cracked?” Kili finished helpfully.

Bilbo shushed them both while Ori looked scandalized. “Just because he has birds nesting in his hair doesn’t mean he isn’t a wizard. Mind your manners.”

“He has birds in his hair? How did you see that?” Asked Ori, peering at the twitchy form of Radagast as he drew Gandalf away to speak to the gray wizard.

“Probably explains all of the shit on his face,” snorted Kili as he picked at the dried blood on his own. Fili licked the palm of his hand and began to rub fiercely at his brother’s face with it, ignoring the younger’s indignant cries. Clearly Kili hadn’t been too hurt by the tree landing on him if he had enough energy left in him to shout like a goblin had just shoved a hand down the back of his pants. 

The sense of urgency finally got the best of him and Bilbo climbed up onto his pony, well aware of the odd looks being directed at him by the three dwarves. “Don’t look at me like that. There’s a wizard over there shouting about danger and murder. I’d rather be prepared in case it’s managed to follow him rather than have to run away on foot with no supplies.”

The three others exchanged a look and were suddenly very intent on finding their own mounts. “That’s a good idea, Mist – Bilbo.” Said Ori and he gave his pony a little kick so that it came up next to Bilbo’s own.

“Yeah, since we all know how wizards attract trouble. Uncle!” Shouted Fili. Thorin looked up from where he had been in council with Dwalin, looking irritated at the interruption. “Can we talk on the road? No sense wasting time waiting around here.”

“Fili, I think that you can manage to wait a while so that I may –“ Gandalf began, but caught the meaningful look that Bilbo was giving him and twitched his long nose. “Perhaps moving along would be best,” he finally agreed. Radagast just jumped a little and glanced between Gandalf and Bilbo rapidly, nearly as high strung as the rabbits that were hooked up to his sled. Thorin grunted in agreement and the rest of the dwarves began to trail over to where the ponies were stamping restlessly in the grass, their nostrils flaring as if they too wanted to be away from what was coming. Bombur needed to be helped into his saddle and then Bofur noticed that his pipe was gone and had to be reassured that it was in his saddlebag. Getting started on their way again was always a production and seemed to take forever even though it was probably mere minutes before they were leaving the trolls behind. None of the dwarves were happy about being back on their ponies again since none of them had gotten any sleep the previous night, nor breakfast this morning and there was quite a bit of grumbling about it. Bilbo was too anxious to pay any mind to his own growling belly or to how dry his eyes felt. If he had been able to spur everyone onto a faster pace he would have done so, but there was no reason to do so just yet.

Or at least there wasn’t until the first howl sounded behind them.

“Wargs!” Bilbo shouted just as the first one burst out of the forest next to them and lunged directly at Gloin and his pony. It dropped with the dwarf’s axe buried between its eyes and the ponies instantly began to panic, bucking and stamping while their riders attempted to settle them down. Only Gandalf’s horse and Radagast’s rabbits seemed unaffected, but that was the way of the animals wizards kept about - they usually turned out to be as unusual as their masters. Another one of the hulking beasts leapt off of a boulder and this one succeeded in knocking Dwalin right out of his saddle. He went down with a roar but the warg was dead before it hit the ground with him, an arrow in one eye and a long throwing knife buried in its throat courtesy of Kili and Nori.

“Warg scouts!” Thorin snarled as he pulled hard on his pony’s reins to keep it from rearing. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

Dori had dismounted to help pull the dead warg off of Dwalin and the rest of the company looked around in alarm as if they expected to have a dozen orcs plunge into the midst at any moment. Bilbo was ready to scream. Even Gandalf looked worried. “Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?” He snapped as he rode up next to Thorin.

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one I swear! What in Durin’s name is going on?”

“Do we really have time for this?” Cried Bilbo. “We must get away or they’ll be on us!”

“Your burglar has the right of it, Thorin Oakenshield. You are being hunted and your steeds cannot outrun what pursues you.”

__________________________________

If it hadn’t been for Radagast and his rabbits they would have been overwhelmed and killed in a matter of minutes. Luckily the batty old wizard had managed to draw off the scouts. The wargs, for all that they were much more intelligent than an average wolf, couldn’t seem to resist the scent of the wizard’s rabbits and had chased after him with an enthusiasm that couldn’t be curbed by their riders. With nearly twenty wargs and a dozen orc riders now trailing after him, Radagast disappeared into the foothills, shouting some very creative insults behind him as the orcs struggled to regain control of their hounds.

“Hurry!” Cried Gandalf as the company raced through a dip in the grassland. Their ponies ran as fast as they could but with the weight of the riders and the baggage there was no way they would be able to keep ahead of their pursuers if they were discovered.

The wind whipped at their faces and tore at their clothes as the rode. Bilbo’s heart was in his mouth and he was listening so hard that his ears began to throb, desperate to catch the first sign that they were being pursued. A single wrong move could spell their doom. If Radagast lead the orcs too close to their trail the wargs would no doubt fixate on the scent of dwarf and pony and leave the rabbits in favor of something juicier.

“ _Please please please_ ,” Bilbo whispered as he bent low across his pony’s neck. They had made it out of this once before, so they should be able to this time. The ponies made them faster but they also prevented them from taking Gandalf’s secret passage through the ravine. The Great Eastern Road lead straight into Rivendell but it was also more than an hour’s ride from where they now plunged through the open land.

“The ponies can’t take this pace for long!” Shouted Dori, but nobody answered him. They all knew the same thing. If they were caught on this mad dash they would be forced to fight. If they fought they would be overwhelmed. If they were overwhelmed they would all die and Erebor would remain in the claws of Smaug and Bilbo would have failed again.

The roar that ricocheted up from behind them felt like the final nail in Bilbo’s coffin and hot tears streaked back across his face as he stared ahead of them. There had to be something else, something he could do! Gandalf was up ahead of them, leading them in their race to Rivendell. Even Thorin didn’t seem to be complaining about their destination, though he probably thought the elves were only barely the lesser evil. But what could one hobbit do when they were already fleeing as quickly as they could? He had kept the ponies, their gear, their weapons, what else was there he could do to make sure they came out of this alive? The hoof beats of their mounts pounded in his head like thunder.

They had been spotted. Already the orcs and the warg scouts were pouring down the hills like rats. They shouted and snarled as they closed in on the company and Bilbo thought that he could already feel their teeth sinking into his flesh.

_You failed, Bilbo Baggins. You thought that you could change what happened but instead you just made it worse with your stupidity! You really are the most senseless hobbit in existence._

But the dwarves weren’t going to go down without a fight. The minute the first warg came into range its rider dropped with an arrow in his chest. Kili had twisted around and was riding backwards on his pony, firing as quickly as he could at their pursuers. Some of his arrows found their marks, but not enough to make a difference. Ori too was adding his contribution to their offense. Rocks found eyes and throats and a warg went down into the dirt, blinded.

“Bifur! **_Wataban_**!” Cried Ori and Bifur instantly tossed his boar spear back to the youngest Ri. Bilbo’s jaw dropped as Ori hefted the spear in one hand and _threw_ it hard enough to punch straight through the closest orc and down into his mount as well. Bombur started to cheer but it quickly turned into a yelp as a warg got too close and nearly bit his arm right off, horrible teeth missing by a hairsbreadth.

“Thorin!” Screamed Bilbo. They had been overtaken. The remaining wargs had circled around and cut them off from the road to Rivendell, drool pouring from their jaws. The orcs came up behind them, swords raised to take off their heads.

That was when the first elf arrow sprouted from an orc's chest.

The riders from Rivendell had arrived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we move onto Rivendell. Expect the next chapter to be a very long one since I want to have multiple points of view! I hope you're enjoying the ride so far.


	14. The Last Homely House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Smutty Nonsense

“Ouch! Brother, have a softer hand else I might think you a butcher more than a doctor.”

Oin just grunted and continued to wrap the bandage around his brother’s swollen ankle. There was no cut or sign of infection, so it seemed as though Gloin had simply stepped on a rock the wrong way and wrenched his ankle. No doubt while being chased by the trolls through the forest, which hadn’t been at all dignifying. “And you can quit your cryin’ lest I think you one of our hosts that had broken a dainty fingernail. What would Stori say should she see you in such a state?”

The mention of his wife had Gloin quickly shutting his mouth and just wincing whenever Oin would draw the bandages particularly tightly. When the limb was finally wrapped up the elder brother gave it a firm pat and Gloin swallowed a howl. He had been limping about on the damn thing for two days before Oin had seized him by the beard and dragged him off to get it properly treated since Gloin would let none of the elves within a five-foot radius of him.

Now the two elder dwarves sat in some sweet grass next to an ornamental pond. Neither of them seemed to be enjoying it at all.

“No battle,” grumbled Gloin as he collapsed backwards into the grass and stared up at the cloudless sky. “Nor proper food and even poorer hosts. When can we be away from here?” Already they had spent three days in Rivendell, and that was three too many for most of them. Thorin had been in council with Gandalf and Elrond for most of that, leaving the other members of the company to roam free and work what madness they could upon the serene dwelling of the elves.

“It’s not my place to say where or when we go, just to follow. If Thorin thinks we need to linger here then linger here we shall, at least for a while longer.” He began to wind back up the extra bandages and tucked the jar of salve into his medical bag where it wouldn’t crack open if it was jostled. The inside of the sturdy pouch was lined with needles of all kinds, several jars with careful labels, packets of dried herbs for everything from deep sleep to stomach troubles, and down at the bottom was nestled a rather wicked bone saw. The collection was the bare minimum of what he had chosen to bring along and he had already added to it by raiding the elves’ medical center. They had seemed willing enough to part with extra wrappings and some sweet-smelling glue that Oin had initially turned his lip up at but that the healers had assured him would bind even the most grievous wound together again. So into his bag it had gone and he had even remember enough of his manners (poor though they were) to remember to thank them for the aid. That had been the extent of his interaction with the folk of Rivendell and it was more than enough for the old dwarf. The high elves may not have been the ones to turn away from them at Erebor, but most were cut from the same cloth and Oin couldn’t find it in him to interact with them with anything more than the barest civility.

Gloin didn’t even bother with that much and openly insulted their hosts when they were within earshot. No one had bothered to ask him to refrain so the muttered ‘tree-shaggers’ and ‘pointy-eared buggers’ continued.

Both dwarves reclined in the grass and looked down at the pond, which Fili and Kili were dragging a reluctant Bilbo towards, one arm each holding onto their burglar while the other carried a fishing pole.

“I would not wish my Gimli on this quest,” Gloin said softly.

“Aye,” agreed Oin. “Too young and hotheaded by far. He would have thrown his axe straight at the trolls and gotten tossed into a pot for his bravery.”

Gloin chuckled and pulled a golden locket out of the top of his shirt, popping it open to regard the two tiny portraits inside of it with open fondness. “That he would have and then Stori would have cut off my beard for getting her boy cooked. He’ll have his chance eventually; I have no doubt about that. If trouble doesn’t find him he goes out and searches it out.”

“You were the same at his age if I remember correctly. Getting’ stuck in all manner of places and needin’ me to come fetch you from whatever cell or pit you’d managed to end up in.”

“You were in that cell with me half the time.”

“What was that? Can’t hear you brother, my ears must be failing me again.”

“You old bastard, I should knock you right round your head to knock those memories back to life.”

“Oh no, I’m quite content to have them where they were – properly forgotten.”

Both of them shook their heads at the same time and settled back on their elbows, content to watch the young princes torment the hobbit for a little while.

__________________________________

 “No, I really don’t want to stand in the pond I’ll be quite content to watch from the shore – oh dear that looks very deep!”

“Don’t be such a worrier; it barely goes up to your waist.” Fili tightened his grip on Bilbo’s arm and the three of them started forward into the pond. The fat fish darted away at the initial splash but came back again almost at once, curious to see if the invaders to their home had brought anything for them to eat. A couple very fat orange and yellow ones began to nibble on Bilbo’s toes, backing off when he kicked and then coming back for a second taste. Clearly the flavor of hobbit was new and intriguing.

“Up to my waist is more than deep enough, leave off!” Bilbo snapped and he finally managed to catch Fili in the nose with his elbow. The younger brother yelped and released him suddenly which caused all three of them to go toppling into the water. Bilbo was the first one to surface since he stood up almost at once and scrambled back for the safety of the low wall around the clear water. The bottom was lined with smooth stones and they shifted under his feet and made it difficult to run. Behind him he could hear Fili and Kili laughing and splashing each other, clearly not caring one whit about how deep or cold the water was. Grumbling to himself and already shivering Bilbo hauled himself up onto the wall and sat himself there very firmly, quite cross about getting his fresh clothes all wet. They clung to him uncomfortably in all of the wrong places.

The majority of hobbits weren’t fond of water that went up above their knees unless it was hot and in a bathtub. Few could swim and those who could usually couldn’t manage it for more than a minute or two before they sank straight to the bottom. More than one foolhardy hobbit tween had lost their lives to an overturned boat while fishing and Bilbo had lost one of his cousins on his Took side to just such an occurrence. He had no desire to tempt fate by ending up in water any deeper than his knees if he could help it.

Fili, looking like a half-drowned cat, pulled himself out of the water next to Bilbo. “Don’t like fish?”

“More like I don’t like what they live in,” Bilbo muttered, trying to squeeze some of the excess water out of his shirt and very grateful he had left his vest in his room today.

The elves had been the epitome of grace and good manners as they lead the harried and rumbled band of travelers down the road to Rivendell. One had even fallen back to retrieve Bifur’s boar spear from where it stuck out of one of the corpses, though he had tried to give it to Ori first since he had been the one to throw it. The orcs might have been capable of taking down a company of dwarves on pony back but the elven archers had been a factor they hadn’t taken into account. Those who had immediately been slain by the long swords and barrage of arrows had fled as quickly as their mounts could carry them, heading for the dubious safety of the forest where their wargs could maneuver more easily than the horses. A few escaped that way but the majority of the raiding band lay slain in the dry grass, left for the birds and wolves to pick at until someone returned to burn the corpses.

It had been a solemn procession that paused at the edge of the ravine that Rivendell lay nestled in like a bright jewel. If the elves were happy about their victory over the orc pack they didn’t make any show of it. Bilbo figured that they had probably been doing the exact same thing for years and after a while it wasn’t worth cheering over. Victory was all well and good, but death had never been something the hobbit had ever celebrated. Even the passing of his enemies had never lightened his heart.

Now he sat on the sun-warmed wall and accepted the fish pole that Kili passed to him, chewing contemplatively on the inside of his cheek. It had taken enormous restraint to not greet Elrond as if they were old friends. Many an evening he had spent in the company of the lord of Rivendell, reading or exchanging stories of a world that had long ago been forgotten or relegated to the dusty pages of history books. The elf would not have recognized him now as this was their first meeting. With that in mind he had nearly given himself away yet again by knowing exactly where the guest rooms were located and leading the way there without waiting for their elven escort. Balin had given him a sharp look as Bilbo hurriedly explained it off as ‘good hobbit sense’, but at least the old dwarf hadn’t pushed the matter. Thorin had just scowled as he was showed to his room by a dark-haired elf named Lindir.

No one had really been surprised to find their leader in such poor spirits. In Thorin’s mind all elves were guilty of the same sin. Bilbo had learned that after the dwarves had scattered in all direction Elrond had offered his services to those who had made it past the Misty Mountains, though few had accepted it. A couple had lingered for a while, mostly those with young children or the sick or elderly. The others had gone on with neither rest nor supplies, unwilling to take anything that might resemble pity from their sworn enemies. Bilbo’s bought of reverse psychology might have softened him to the idea of accepting their hospitality for a short while but that didn’t mean that the king was going to look or act at all grateful for it.

Fili reeled in a fat silver fish and stuffed it into a basket that was sitting behind them. The high elves served no meat at their dining table, but rather filling fruits and vegetables and roots along with fragrant oat breads. Bilbo was perfectly happy dining on the fare but the dwarves had quickly fallen to complaining about the lack of animal protein. Luckily one of the more practical elves had suggested the fish ponds and that had settled most of the arguments.

“This is almost too easy,” Kili mumbled as he too pulled in one of the curious fish but tossed it back on account of it being one of the yellow ones. They didn’t taste as good as the silver kind. “I could walk right in and pick them out like daisies.”

“And they’d probably say ‘thank you’ when you tossed them in a pan with a bit of lemon and wine,” Bilbo laughed.

“Stop iiiittttt, you’re making me hungry,” moaned Fili. “I’ve had naught but porridge and fruit for breakfast and that’s a far cry from sausage and bacon and potatoes. I’m going to waste away until I’m not wider than an elf.”

“I guess if you did you couldn’t complain that I only love you for your body, Fee,” Kili teased, leaning around Bilbo and giving his brother a quick poke in the side with the butt of his fishing pole. 

With a face that would have done any martyr proud, Fili reached up and stroked his own face. “As long as I can keep my beard, that’s all that matters. Without it I would be a hollow shell of a dwarf and never be able to show my face in public.”

“I show my face in public,” Kili mumbled, rubbing the faint shadow that decorated his jaw. It was barely peach fuzz by dwarven standards but it was still better than what Bilbo had been able to grow, even once he passed the ripe age of one hundred. He figured he got his clean face from the Took side since his grandfather on his father’s side had sported mutton chops that had been the envy of half of the Shire. 

“Don’t worry, I think you’d both be very handsome even without beards,” Bilbo said with a firm nod, recasting his line further out into the pond where the fattest silver fish were lazing about, sunning themselves. He didn’t realize that both brothers had fallen silent on either side of him until he reeled his line back in and turned to show Kili the thrashing fish on the end of it.

“What?” He looked over his shoulder and found Fili giving him a similar disbelieving look. “Do I have fish scales on my face?”

“You think we’d be handsome without beards?” Kili asked incredulously.

“Is that what you’re on about? Of course you would be. Not that you’re not nice to look on with them, so don’t be offended. Here Fili, take this.” The hobbit removed the hook from the mouth of his fish and handed it to the blond to put in the basket. No doubt they would be tasty once they were baked up properly with some sauce and vegetables to go along with them. “Now stop look at me like I’ve grown ram horns, I’m trying to fish.”

As if by some unspoken agreement both brother scooted a little bit closer to him before returning their attention to the pond and their future supper.

__________________________________

Bofur waved over at the princes and the Halfling as he walked by on the opposite side of the pond and got three waves and an anatomically impossible suggestion in Khudzul from Fili in return. It was lucky that Bilbo didn’t understand the language since it would have made him blush right down to his toes. Bofur didn’t mind though, he knew the princes meant it all in good fun and he took it as such, laughing and shaking his head as he kept walking to find where his brother and cousin had taken themselves off too. Elves weren’t all bad. They were fair enough to look up though not exactly the type he would ever consider pursuing. The miner would have been too afraid of mussing up one of them to ever try anything forward.

“There lived an old maid with her hair in a braid and a beard down to ‘er knees,” he hummed as he walked, enjoying the feeling of the sun.

It wasn’t often he had the chance to relax like this, and though many of the company was eager to be away as quickly as possible he wouldn’t have really minded lingering for a few days. His family hailed from Ered Luin and thus had little quarrel with the elven folk though their interactions were rare. Before he had embarked on this fool’s errand most of his time had been spent in the mines, chipping away at solid stone for hours on end in search of silver and emeralds. It hadn’t been an extravagant life or a comfortable one by any stretch of the imagination, but it had suited him well enough. His fingers had been broken so often by falling rocks and misused tools that his knuckles were permanently swollen and he wore knitted gloves now to hide them. The twisted hands of a miner weren’t fit to be looked upon by any, especially not royalty and the upper class dwarves he now found himself a companion to. Warriors and princes and scribes, and somehow he had fallen in with all of them and counted himself lucky for it.

None of the friends or family he had left behind in Ered Luin could have held a candle to the fine company Thorin Oakenshield had put together. From a people composed of wanderers and renegades he had somehow found the most loyal and noble dwarves, the only level-headed hobbit west of the Misty Mountains, and a wizard to aid them on their journey. It seemed almost impossible for them to fail, even if Smaug still resided in the mountain.

He pulled his pipe out of his pocket and lit it with a match, puffing away on it as he walked, still humming.

“Oi, Bof!” Bombur hailed him from where he stood next to the pen that had been hastily constructed for all of the ponies. The graceful horse watched the fat animals over the wooden rails, apparently fascinated. They didn’t spare Bofur a single glance as he ambled up and stood with his brother, watching the horses watch the ponies.

“Where’s Bifur?” Bofur asked, tipping back his hat so that he could watch one of the horses whiny at the ponies. It went completely ignored.

“Sitting with Balin in the library last I saw of him. Seems content to stay right there for a while, but I’d rather be on the road.” The fat dwarf rubbed his stomach with an expression of pure agony. “The food here is terrible. I’d rather eat cram for a month straight than more of those vegetables. Not good for the constitution at all.”

“It’s not as bad as all tha’. Saw the lads down fishin’ so you might have something to toss in a pan this evenin’. ‘Sides, we can’t go anywhere ‘til Thorin says so and he’s stuck with that Lord Elrond fellow and Gandalf talkin’ about that map of his.”

Bombur just grunted, not completely appeased by the promise of fish.

“We talking about Gandalf?”

Both Bofur and Bombur yelped in surprise to find Nori standing in between them, calmly smoking while he watched the ponies as if he’d been there the entire time.

“Where’d you come from?” Gasped Bofur, rubbing his chest to try to calm his racing heart.

Nori gestured vaguely with his pipe. “Around. Anyway, if you see Dwalin around tell ‘im I’m headin’ up to that lovely sitting room on the second floor. There’s a good chap.” And off went the thief again, as casually as you please, leaving a trail of spicy pipe smoke behind him.

“What was that about?” Asked Bombur as he pulled a biscuit out of his pocket and began to chew on the edge of it.

“No idea. Gives me the willies, he does.”

“Not the good kind of willies I’m assuming,” said Bombur with a sly smile.

Bofur snorted and swatted some of the crumbs out of his brother’s beard. “Not that one, no. I’d be too afraid of wakin’ up and find my hat missin’ if I took up with him. Not like his brother.”

“Who, Ori?”

“What? No, Dori.” Bofur sighed wistfully and leaned against the rail with a silly smile plastered across his face. “He’s such a gentleman.”

“And out of your league,” grunted Bombur. He’d seen this time and again – Bofur would find someone completely inappropriate and sigh and smile over them for a couple of months before drinking himself into a stupor to forget. Sometimes they fell for his brother’s charm and good nature and then went back home when they were done slumming it up with the miner and left him with a broken heart. “Don’t go falling for him, brother. It’ll end badly for everyone and we don’t have enough drink for you to manage that.”

Bofur rubbed the back of his neck and looked bashful. “Aye, I suppose you’re right. Am I allowed to look at least?”

“Just don’t let him catch you at it. I heard he once punched some bloke who got too handsy so hard his head popped right off and went through a window.”

“He’s _perfect_.”

__________________________________

 _The sitting room on the second floor_ , they’d said. Dwalin dashed up the stairs, his face red and his hands balled into fists. A pair of elves shrieked and dodged out of his way when he barreled around a corner and nearly bowled them right over. He didn’t stop to apologize.

The thief had been in his room. It had been immediately obvious – the open window, the rumbled bed he had landed on, and the little note left on his bedside table would have been the final sign that would have cemented it even if he had been too thick to notice the other things.

It had simply been signed ‘ _N_ ’ and been left right where his knuckle-dusters had been lying when he’d last left them there. Damn everything, he never should have taken them off in the first place! Clearly locking his door hadn’t been enough to deter Nori from coming in, though he’d assumed the sheer cliff face that his room look out on would have been enough to keep the thief from trying anything. He’d been wrong.

“Thief!” he growled, skidding to a halt on the smooth marble floors, glaring into the sitting room. Nori was perched on the rail of the balcony and had the gall to look surprised when Dwalin appeared. Half of his long red hair was down and he was pulling an elven brush through it in long, even strokes. No doubt the brush was another one of his ‘acquired’ goods.

“That was fast. I would have thought I had at least another half hour before you got - !” Nori’s words were cut off when a massive hand caught him around his throat and nearly had him tipping over backwards and right off of the balcony. The brush went clattering out of his hand as the thief reached up to grab Dwalin’s wrist, his face turning a fetching shade of red.

“I want them back,” Dwalin snapped, doing his best to ignore the handful of hair that had gotten wrapped around his fingers when he struck. The combination of Nori’s warm skin and his damn hair was doing all sorts of things to him that it probably shouldn’t have been considering the situation. And it felt all too familiar.   

They had met this way, years earlier back in Ered Luin when Dwalin had been the captain of the city guards and Nori had been a simple sneak thief. Rumor had it that he had worked his way up to a position of power within the Thieves Guild, but that hadn’t mattered when Dwalin had caught him with a hand around the neck of his black shirt and thrown him against a wall. And the thief had the audacity to _flirt_ with him while Dwalin had been hauling him off to prison! It had been a scenario that had been repeated multiple times over the next few years and each one seemed to drive Dwalin a little bit further into rage-fueled madness. No cell had been able to hold Nori for more than a day and he’d escaped even when placed under 24 hour watch. That time they’d found the cell door ripped right off its hinges and the guard unconscious and he’d know Nori had the sort of friends that could make life very difficult. After that the thief had disappeared for almost ten years and hadn’t reappeared until Thorin had declared the start of their venture. Dwalin had nearly had an aneurism seeing the dwarf he’d worked so hard to imprison standing there with Balin’s protégé scribe and Dori, owner of the best tea shop in all of Ered Luin, claiming to be their brother. He had looked so smug, standing there with his flashing hazel eyes and his cocky smile…

But Thorin had kept him from throttling Nori right then and there and he’d been forced to tolerate his presence ever since. Or at least until now.

“You took something of mine thief, and now not even Thorin can keep me from punishing you for it.” Especially since the king was trapped in yet another meeting with Elrond and Gandalf and wouldn’t know about this incident until it was long over.

Nori made a strangled noise around his fingers and Dwalin suddenly felt something sharp pricking his inner thigh. A glance down had him freezing in place because Nori had somehow managed to produce a little silver knife out of somewhere and it was currently threatening a place that no dwarf wanted sharp things anywhere close to. No one had ever accused Dwalin of being the most intelligent son spawned by Fundin, but he knew when he’d been outmaneuvered. His knuckles cracked as he slowly removed his hand from Nori’s neck.

“That’s better,” he wheezed, rubbing his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding the blade. Already bruises were beginning to form where Dwalin’s fingers had dug through the soft tunic. “No need to be so enthusiastic, Dwalin. It’s not as though I was planning on going anywhere. In fact I thought you might appreciate the little bread crumb trail I left for you so that you could find me.”

“I’ll always find you,” Dwalin snarled, not daring to close the small gap between them less he risk damaging something on the thief’s blade. “I want what you stole from me, thief, and I intend to collect.” Everything felt very warm, warmer than the summer sun might have made them naturally. Maybe it was the fury that was racing through his veins. He refused to believe it was anything else but couldn’t help but notice that when Nori smiled at him the temperature climbed another degree or two.

“You’ll have to search me for it in that case, since a good thief never gives away his hiding places.” Nori pulled back the knife and flipped it between his fingers as if it was a coin. With his hands unbound he could use it at any time and Dwalin knew it. One wrong move and he’d find himself gelded.

For a moment the warrior stood there, frozen in place. He couldn’t truly mean – of course there had always been a certain tension between them but he had always assumed that it was a teasing sort of hatred. The leg that hooked around the back of his knee and dragged him forward a stumbling step until he was pressed flush against the thief told him that he might have been off by a little bit.

“I’ll tell you what – you give me what I want and I’ll give you back what I stole. That should have us both walking away happy. Now ask me what it is I want.”

Dwalin’s tongue felt too big for his mouth. This couldn’t be happening – shouldn’t be happening! If any of his men could have seen him like this he would have been laughed right out of the mountain. Dwalin, mighty upholder of law and order, acting like he was a randy dwarf of twenty because of a loose-haired thief.

Nori leaned forward, his sharp smile fixed firmly in place and to his horror Dwalin found himself hardening in arousal. His attempt to escape backwards was met with another blade pressed up between his legs. Clearly all of those times he’d managed to capture the thief had either been pure luck or Nori had been humoring him because if he’d always been this good with his blades Dwalin would have lost fingers.

“I want you to fuck me, guardsman. Fuck me so hard that I feel it all the way to Erebor. I’ve got an itch that needs scratching and I’ve decided you’re just the dwarf to do the job. Do it well enough and you might just get your knuckle dusters back before I decide to melt them down for scrap.”

The noise that left Dwalin’s mouth wasn’t a moan. It wasn’t anything like a moan. Except, horrifyingly, it managed to turn into exactly that and he leaned forward, not caring about the knife’s bite.

“Nori, I was just looking for you and – Nori what are you doing to poor Dwalin?” Two hands seized Dwalin by the back of his tunic and dragged him backwards, away from the knife and the thief and his evil, evil smile. He turned to chase off whoever it was who had dared separate him from his quarry and found himself looking down at the other two Ri brothers. Ori was fiddling with a loose thread on his mittens and would make eye contact. Dori’s eyes on the other hand swept him from head to toe, taking in his rapid breathing, pin prick pupils, and the state of his pants. “Well clearly we arrived right in the nick of time. Come along Nori, I wanted to speak with you about something private.”

Dwalin nearly protested when he felt the thief slither off of the balcony wall behind him but the way Nori pressed himself up against his backside before ducking around him made his brain go missing again.

“Maybe next time. Don’t’ worry, I’ll keep a close eye on them for you until then.”

 _A close eye on – his knuckle dusters!_ Nori was already walking away with Dori holding onto his elbow and as Dwalin reached out to catch him a hand closed around his wrist with such crushing power that it nearly brought him to his knees. The old guardsman stared in shock down at Ori, who was holding him in place with one hand and a sheepish expression.

“Please don’t, Dori wouldn’t like it,” he murmured before releasing Dwalin and hurrying after his brothers.

Nori winked at him over his shoulders as the three brothers disappeared around a corner and all Dwalin could do was stand there, massaging his bruised wrist and wondering when his life had gotten so complicated.

__________________________________

“I’m going to throttle that damn thief!” Dwalin roared as he stormed into the library and threw himself into one of the delicate chairs next to his brother.

Balin carefully turned the page of the manuscript he was reading and adjusted his glasses. “I’ll assume you’re referring to young Nori, since the hobbit is a burglar rather than a thief.”

“Of course I mean Nori! He’s been a bloody thorn in my side for years and now he’s decided to – “

“Please don’t shout brother, we are in a place of learning after all.”

“ _You might make the elves cry_ ,” commented Bifur in Khuzdul as he used a miniature blade to carve away at a chunk of wood cradled in his hands. Bifur and Balin could quite often be found in each other’s company. The two dwarves went back a long way together, long before Smaug had attacked Erebor. Bifur had fought side by side with the two brothers in many battles and had saved them from a blade on more than one occasion. The axe that was buried in his forehead had been put there by an orc who had been swinging it at Balin’s back. Since then the two dwarves had been nearly inseparable.

“Fuck the bloody elves!”

_“I’d rather not.”_

The injury may have damage Bifur’s ability to speak Westron and occasionally he had moments where his mind would drift, but his dry humor had remained.

“Calm down, brother. Alarming our hosts will do nothing to change your situation. I suggest you retire early this eve and apply your mind to a proper solution to whatever it is that is plaguing you.”

“Oh I’ll give him a proper solution right up his – “

“Brother.”

“What!?”

Bifur just rolled his eyes and kept carving.

“Bifur and I were just discussing our smallest companion before you interrupted us. We’ve both noticed a certain strangeness about him that neither of us have ever witnessed in any of his kind.” Balin removed his glasses and carefully tucked them away into the top pocket of his coat.

“So what, he doesn’t scream and faint at the first sign of trouble? S’not that strange.” Dwalin growled as he rubbed his bare knuckles.

 _“He has a look about him when he thinks no one is watching,”_ said Bifur as he blew his wood shavings onto the floor. “ _And in the way he watches all of us.”_

Balin nodded and slid off of the chair to return his book to one of the many shelves that surrounded them. “Aye, Bifur has the right of it. It’s a look I well recognize.”

“So what’s the look? Not sure I like the thought of being watched by a Halfling, no matter what the cause.”

_“We think the hobbit is a widower who was wed to a dwarf.”_

Silence fell over the library.

“What?”

“It’s true, brother. When Frár was killed in Erebor I found myself doing the same on more than one occasion.”

“ _And I for Iari,”_ murmured Bifur sadly. Both dwarves had lost wives to the wrath of the dragon and perhaps that had been what made them seek out each other’s company even more so than the battles they had fought together. Lost love made allies out of even the most distant folk.

“But the way the hobbit looks at this company makes me think that perhaps he loved a dwarf at some point and lost them.”

“What?” This time it wasn’t Dwalin who spoke, but a rather shell-shocked Thorin who stood in the doorway.

“Ah, Thorin,” Balin greeted their king with a jovial nod. “We were just discussing your burglar. How did the meeting go?”

Thorin stepped into the library and rubbed at his face, looking more haggard than he had for the entire journey. “The elf will attempt to read the map this evening. I would like to request your presence during it because I value your good sense. Now what was the about the burglar?”

Balin shrugged and Bifur snorted into his beard. Dwalin had fallen to muttering to himself and shaking his head over the strangeness of Halflings.

“We simply said that he has the look of one who has buried their heart. I know it well.” The old dwarf looked up at Thorin from under his bushy white brows. “As do you. Perhaps you would not treat him so harshly if he has known the same pain as you.”

Thorin only hung his head and would not meet Balin’s eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to post, I'm afraid I hacked at it for a couple of days before deleting the entire chapter and starting over again since it just wasn't working for me. Hopefully things will be a bit easier from here on out since the next chapter won't be quite so long and we'll finally get a bit of a heart-to-heart between Bilbo and Thorin. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, I'm losely basing Nori and Dwalin's personal history on Thorinsmut's "your Axe to my throat, my Knife to yours". If you haven't read it yet I HIGHLY recommend it.


	15. Those Who Have Known Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

“You are not the only guardian of Middle Earth.” Elrond’s eyes were flat and irritated as he turned to go. The moon shone down brightly on the ledge with its crystal table and a cool breeze had picked up, making the spray of the waterfall wash back upon those who stood there. Thorin quickly gathered up his map and folded it into an inner pocket over his fur coat so that it wouldn’t get too wet. It was lucky the parchment it had been penned into was so hearty or else it probably would have either melted or torn into a hundred pieces from the abuse it had been put through since they left the Shire. The dwarf king didn’t always have a light hand with his belongings.      

“There’s just one more small matter, Lord Elrond.” Gandalf put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder to keep him in place and leveled a look over at where Thorin and Balin were muttering to each other. “It is not a matter that concerns dwarves, so I suggest you seek out your beds or your companions. I heard a rumor of fried fish if you are fast enough to get to it before the others finish it.”

That seemed to decide both of them because the dwarves turned on their heels and headed for the narrow staircase that would take them back up to the main part of the city. Thorin glanced back at Bilbo over his shoulder before he left but didn’t say anything.

Probably wondering if Elrond is going to try to turn me against him, Bilbo thought a little bit sourly. Thorin had been shooting him cryptic looks all day and they were starting to get on his nerves. If the king wanted something he should have just said so rather than making Bilbo guess what he might have been doing wrong this time. Maybe he hadn’t liked how comfortable his burglar was in the presence of the elves.  There were just some behaviors Bilbo couldn’t curb and his natural respect and agreeability towards their hosts was one of them. Most of them he knew by name and he’d made a point of seeking out the ones he’d gotten along the best with in his old life and introducing himself all over again. Most of them had been distantly friendly and as polite as one would be with a stranger.

Elrond stepped back to allow the dwarves to step by him and then returned to Gandalf’s side, still looking a bit out of sorts. The stubbornness of dwarves could test the patience of anybody and Thorin was one of the worst of his kind when it came to dealing with elves. Bilbo shuddered to think of the hole he might have dug himself into without Gandalf there to mediate.

The old wizard leaned on his staff and shook his head. “My apologies, Lord Elrond. Had I known how poorly he would conduct himself I might have spirited away the map and had you read it privately.”

“He is a dwarf. I expected nothing less from him, though I might have been pleasantly surprised had he conducted himself to the standards of his forefathers. I stood with Thrór on more than one occasion and found him to be nearly tolerable. It doesn’t seem that his composure was inherited.”

“He’s not all bad,” murmured Bilbo and Gandalf squeezed his shoulder to silence him.

“As for the matter I wished to discuss with you, I recently came across a situation that I had never before encountered and wished to seek your council on it. It is a rather…delicate matter.”

The elf lord’s eyes drifted down to Bilbo. “Concerning the Halfling?”

“I’m standing right here, you know. And my name is not ‘the Halfling’ as everyone seems to think,” Bilbo snapped as he shrugged off Gandalf’s hand. The wizard had approached him earlier about the possibility of asking Elrond for aid concerning his apparent resurrection and Bilbo had been more than happy to agree. If Gandalf was clueless on the subject then there was a possibility that maybe Elrond could lend a hand in some way. But that didn’t mean he had to stand there and be spoken about as if he were a tree stump that had fewer brains that a squirrel.

There was a short silence and then Elrond nodded, conceding the point. “As you wish. What troubles would you speak to me of, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?”

And slowly, piece by piece with a couple of interjections by Gandalf, the story came out. He was careful to make no mention of what he had seen or experiences the first time, only mentioning that as he spoke and acted the world seemed to be shifting around him to change the course of history. Elrond stood silently the whole time, apparently unmoved except for the creases that had appeared on his forehead and between his eyes that showed he was taking the entire thing very seriously. 

“- and then we came here except not quite in the same way since we managed to round up the ponies and use them to travel a bit faster.”

Gandalf and Elrond exchanged a glance.

“And the company?”

“Suspects nothing,” confirmed Gandalf. “As far as I can tell they only think that I have found a rather remarkable hobbit. Bilbo has kept his secret held very close, better than another might have in his place and I think he should be commended for that.”

Bilbo ducked his head, not entirely comfortable with the praise.

“Indeed,” agreed Elrond. “I have only encountered the _minya nosta_ , the Twice Born, once in my life. She was a young human girl who claimed to have been sent back from the brink of death in order aid her family in their venture to reclaim their lands from goblins. I was there when she breathed her last with an arrow in her breast, broken in body and spirit for she claimed that she had twice failed and could not be redeemed. I thought it merely the ravings of one who was meeting death until you told me this.”

“So it’s happened before?” Asked Bilbo eagerly, his spirits lifting.

“Perhaps many times, but if they succeeded in changing time itself there would be no way to prove it. Had we met in this first life of yours, Mister Baggins?”

 “Yes, I would have considered us friends. I lived here for several years once I had grown into an old hobbit.”

“And yet if I had not heard your story I might not have believed it because I retain no spiritual memory of this other life. The people you met and loved before your death do not exist yet and may never depending on how you act to change the world around you.” Elrond gestured at the crystal table. “You must have known what the map said and could have said so and avoided Rivendell altogether. And yet you did not so that you wouldn’t reveal yourself. I do not know what you have been pulled back for, but these are the sort of choices you will have to continue to make if you choose to continue on.”

“I have to keep going,” Bilbo murmured. “If I don’t and I tell them to turn back I would have failed before I really got started. I’m a Baggins. I see things through.” If his hands were shaking when he shoved them in his coat pockets he tried not to pay them any mind.

“So be it.”

Elrond’s words had a firm finality to it that felt heavier than the fists of the trolls. There hadn’t been any choice for Bilbo from the beginning and with every step onwards his resolve only became more firm. The Durins would live, even if he had to take their place in the afterlife as payment.

Again a hand settled on his shoulder, but this one was light with long, delicate fingers. “If there is anything I can do to help you on your quest, Twice Born, you have only to ask.”

“Thank you _heru en amin_. Somehow I’ll muddle my way through. I usually do.” Bilbo bowed as low as dictated for Elrond’s station and took a step backward, more than ready to retire to his room for the evening. His soul felt as worn and thin as old paper and the thought of the long journey and the perils that still lay ahead of him felt larger than ever. If he failed and they all died at the hands of the giants or the orcs would he be damned? Would he haunt the world as a lonely spirit whose vow had never been fulfilled, trapped between life and death?

Right now he just wanted a soft bed and a cup of tea.

A thought occurred to him as Gandalf and Elrond turn to leave. “Excuse me, Lord Elrond!” He hurried after them, his hand raised. “I don’t suppose you have much sway with an elf king by the name of Thranduil?”

__________________________________

_“I was sleeping in the garden when I saw you first_

_He'd put me deep, deep under so that he could work_

_And like the dawn you broke the dark and my whole earth shook_

_I was sleeping in the garden when I_ – Thorin!” Bilbo yelped and pressed a hand to his heart to try to calm it as he sagged against the wall of his room.

The dwarf king rose from where he’d been sitting in a chair in the corner, his face lined with concern. “It wasn’t my intention to scare you to death, burglar. I would have waited outside until you arrived but I kept getting asked if I had lost my way.”

“It’s alright; I had a couple of years to have scared off. I’ll save the rest of them for Smaug if you don’t mind.” Bilbo stood there, not sure if he should shut the door behind him or leave it open as an escape in case Thorin decided to start shouting at him again. The king’s expression seemed more concerned than furious though, so he slowly nudged the door mostly shut with his heel. Perhaps he’d just come by to make sure Bilbo made it back to his room unmolested by the elves. “I was just going to have a smoke on the balcony if you want to join me.”

For a moment Thorin just stood there, still cast in deep shadows in the corner. No candles had been lit since the sun fell and now the only light came from the brilliant moon that shone through the open balcony doors. “Yes, thank you.”

“I didn’t think I would ever hear those words come out of your mouth,” Bilbo mused as he walked out onto the white marble balcony and settled himself on the bench there. His toes barely brushed the floor when he sat since the room had been designed with elves in mind. The bed felt big enough to fit the entire company of dwarves into. Not that he would have wanted to since some of them snored loudly enough to wake the dead and would probably roll on him and squash him into jelly.

Thorin snorted as he walked over to rail and pulled his square-bowled pipe out of his coat pocket. “I’ve said ‘thank you’ to you before. There’s no need to imply that I’ve forgotten my manners completely.”

They shared a match and the smell of sweet Old Toby and the more pungent dwarf pipe weed soon filled the air. “Terribly sorry, you did say it once when I leant you my handkerchief.”

“Surely before that when you welcomed us into your home?”

“No, not once.”

“Breakfast?”

“Not then either.”

“Not even when – “ The dwarf trailed off, looking angry with himself. “It seems I have indeed forgotten my manners. I thank you, Bilbo Baggins, for the aid you have rendered unto both myself and my kin over these last weeks.”

Bilbo smiled and blew a neat smoke ring out into the cool night air. It was lifted up by the breeze and quickly vanished. “You’re welcome, your majesty. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You weren’t the one saying it,” Thorin grumbled as he sat down on the bench next to Bilbo. The hobbit was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how warm his companion was and of how the fur that lined the dwarf’s greatcoat brushed against the back of his hand as softly as a kiss.

 “Sometimes the right words are the hardest ones to say. I would know since I used to spend my days employing them.”

“So you were a politician as well as a burglar?” Thorin chuckled as he stared off into the silver night, smoke trailing out of the corners of his mouth as he spoke.

“Hardly. I’ll leave that sort of nonsense to the Thrain and his ilk. I was a writer, and I supposed I technically still am. Of course I’m not nearly as dedicated as Ori but it’s how I pass the time. I come from a line of gentle-hobbits on my mother’s side and we’ve never needed to work farms or run shops. She spent her youth adventuring and then turned to herbalism once she’d settled down. I just write.”

“Truly?” Thorin looked at him with genuine interest and Bilbo was grateful that the monochrome light helped to hide the flush that rose in his cheeks and ears at the close scrutiny. “I would have taken you more for a grocer than a writer.”

And there went the rosy glow. “Well I’m sure that the Shire would have an overabundance of grocers if everyone did what you thought they did,” he snapped. “I may not look like much but I’ve done a thing or two in my time that would – “

“Peace, Halfling, I meant no offense. You simply surprised me. I know that your kind tends to leave peaceful and unremarkable lives and – “

Bilbo nodded, still a little bit annoyed. He’d thought that he’d managed to dodge the ‘grocer’ comment until now. “And assumed most of us would be farmers or the like, I know. But I’m not and that’s the way of things.”

Thorin tried to blow a smoke ring to match Bilbo’s, but it merely came out as a puff and made him cough. “I-I see,” he rasped. “I won’t insult you further by asking if you write books for children.”

The hobbit snorted at his companion’s discomfort. “You have to hold it in your throat without breathing it in. And yes, occasionally I’d write stories. On Sundays I’d be drowning in kits that came by for tea and cake and they’d beg me to read them out loud. I never got around to having them illustrated though. Maybe I’ll ask Ori if – well. Mostly I wrote about doing things. Taking walks, the best way to harvest apples, how to make a proper compress for cow kicks. That sort of thing.”

Once again Thorin tried his luck with a smoke ring and this time it came out as a wobbly square shape. “Anything I might have read?”

“That’s unlikely. I never bothered to publish or copy them so I imagine they’re still sitting very comfortably on my shelves back at home.”

The king made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Maybe I’ll read them some day.”  

“Perhaps.”

They sat in silence for a long while after that and a couple of bats flapped by overhead, pursued by an owl. Their pipe smoke drifted away lazily, dipping and swirling on the breeze before dissolving into nothing more than a pleasant memory.

“I feel that I also owe you an apology.” Thorin finally broke the silence and Bilbo jumped, since he’d managed to slip into daydreaming while watching the play of the moonlight on the waterfalls.

“Whatever for?”

Thorin glanced down at his hands. “I’ve been harsher on you than you have deserved. You’ve done nothing but your best and I haven’t been a gracious leader towards you. You may not be one of my subjects but you’ve been more helpful than half of them since we left your home.”

A shy smile stole its way across Bilbo’s face. “It’s alright. I know how y – how dwarves can be. Stubborn and suspicious to the core.”

He received a barking laugh in reply. “Aye, I suppose we can be. Was yours?”

Bilbo looked up in surprise. “Was my what?”

Thorin nodded at him. “Your dwarf. Balin and Bifur said that they figured you to have been wed to one before and perhaps you had lost them. From the way you watched everyone,” he said in explanation when Bilbo looked stunned. “Were they correct?”

Little tingles of adrenaline were working their way through every one of Bilbo’s nerves and they were making his insides ache abominably, especially in the region of his heart. He sternly told it to mind its own business. As casually as he could manage the hobbit got up and tapped the spent ash from his pipe out over the rail and watched it drift away. “We weren’t married. I don’t think that he ever noticed that I cared for him as much as I did.” He shook his head. “Even I didn’t realize how much I had until it was too late.”

It was lucky that Thorin didn’t follow him to the rail. He might have seen the naked emotion on his burglar’s face as he stared out at the night.

“Such is the way of things. If I had known I would lose my family so quickly I might have told them how much I cared before we went into battle.”

“We’d had a fight,” whispered Bilbo. “A terrible one and it was all my fault. I thought that I was acting in his best interests but he couldn’t see it that way. He thought I had betrayed him and for a moment I thought he was going to kill me for it, but I still loved him even then. Isn’t that funny? He forgave me before he died but I never forgave myself. I was too much of a coward and I ran before his kin could even put him in the ground.”

When Thorin said nothing Bilbo kept talking. He couldn’t seem to stop himself now. “He was a good dwarf; he cared about his family more than anything else in the world. And he was so brave…saved my life more than once. There was a fire about him that you couldn’t help to be drawn to even though you knew you would burn yourself on it in the end. Maybe it was his conviction. I doubt he’d have returned my feelings, but just standing by his side was enough for me. There are some days that I missed him so much that I thought I would die of it and I think I would have if I hadn’t had Frodo.”

“Frodo?”

“My nephew. He – “

_Wasn’t born yet._

“He’s still very young.” Not even conceived. “No doubt he’ll grow into a bright and intelligent lad. But he helped ground me and now that I’m here it doesn’t seem as terrible as it once did.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled at the dwarf. The only one he’d ever wanted to stand by. “Maybe it’s my chance to make amends.”  

Whatever Thorin had been about to say was interrupted as the door was pushed open and Gandalf stalked into the room, looking stressed and irritated. “Thorin, gather your company. It’s time you were all away from this place and you must do it secretly or all might be lost. Saruman has arrived in Rivendell.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fly you fools!
> 
> Half of this was written in a hotel room while I had food poisoning, so if there are any errors you can probably guess why. And all of my elvish came from an online translator as you can probably guess. Enjoy!


	16. A Blade in Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mild Violence

By the time the sun rose the next morning there was no sign of the thirteen dwarves or their hobbit in Rivendell. The ponies were gone from their pen and the horses looked more than a little forlorn about losing their source of entertainment. The kitchens were in a state of such disrepair that the head chef fainted dead away when he discovered the mess. How the band had managed to steal away so silently was a mystery – not even the sentries had spotted them as they snuck off up the secret path carved in the side of the ravine and made their way into the wilds.

No riders followed after them and most of the elves seemed to consider themselves well-rid of their guests with the exception of the polite hobbit.

Not for the first time Bilbo found himself grumbling about how he was too old for such sneaking about as they continued the long ride towards the Misty Mountain. His thighs hadn’t had a chance to recover from the weeks of riding and throbbed uncomfortably the minute he had climbed onto the back of his long-suffering pony.

“But Bilbo, you can’t be more than one hundred and fifty or so,” said Kili as the young prince rode up on his left side.

“Don’t date our burglar, brother. I’m sure he isn’t even one hundred and thirty,” said Fili from the back of his own pony and he leaned sideways and gave Bilbo a poke in his ribs.

Bilbo swatted at his hand and scowled. “I beg your pardon! One hundred and thirty indeed, I’ll have you know that I turned fifty last September. Hobbits only reach one hundred and thirty if they are very healthy and more than a little lucky.” And he’d been lucky enough to make it one year past that before succumbing to death. Not that it had really been death, simply that start of another adventure.

Once again he found himself on the receiving end of two dumbfounded looks. _I seem to be getting those quite a lot lately,_ he thought to himself and snapped the reins of his pony to pull away from the two nosy troublemakers. He needn’t have bother though since less than a minute of frantic whispering between themselves later both princes rocketed ahead of him, bouncing on the backs of their ponies like jumping beans until they were riding up next to the uncle and talking to him in wildly animated voices that managed to blend together well enough that it was hard to actually hear what they were talking about.

Not that he had to guess at their topic since Thorin abruptly turned in his saddle and sent a look of shock back at him. It was impossible for Bilbo to contain his eye roll.

Dwarves. Really.

They stopped for a bit of lunch at midday. It consisted of several fat fish that they had scooped out of the pond on their way out and they were swiftly scaled and de-boned and tossed into Bombur’s pot. The creamy soup that was produced was filling and hot, with potatoes and some fresh vegetables to accent the sweet fish. Ori studiously avoided every bit of his celery but Bifur seemed happy to trade his fish for the unwanted greens.

“Here laddie, it’s good for the dregs.” Balin passed Bilbo a chunk of fragrant bread with rosemary in it and Bilbo happily used it to soak up the last bits of his soup. “Don’t mind the princes too much. They’re young and know little of the world.”

“I don’t really care as long as they don’t start treating me like a child,” Bilbo mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “I assure you that I’m well into middle age for my kind. More on a level with Gloin or Bofur than with them, though I may be younger than both in years.”

“Aye, I know it. I had the pleasure of knowing a hobbit or two in my time and know the sands of time travel faster for you than they do for us. Not many would know though, since both of us tend to be private about such things.” Balin pulled the crust off of his own piece of bread and munched on it with obvious enjoyment. “I’ll set the others straight so they don’t get the wrong sort of idea.”

“It might be a bit late for that,” the burglar replied dourly as he noticed the speculative looks he was already beginning to get from the rest of the company. “I’m not a child!” He raised his voice so that the rest of them could hear him. “I’m middle aged for a hobbit, so you can quit looking at me like I should be clinging to my mother’s skirts!”

All eyes suddenly found something else to suddenly be very interested in and Fili and Kili looked crestfallen before burying their faces in their lunch. No doubt they had been looking forward to corrupting the ‘youngest’ member of their company. Not that he would have let them even if he’d been younger - hobbits were born with more sense than those two shared between them and that sense was currently telling him ‘nothing but trouble will come of getting involved with those boys’ in a very stern tone of voice. Besides, he had never regarded them as anything more than tweens and he wasn’t interested in getting involved with them. His heart lay with their uncle and he wasn’t interested in splitting it into parts to share. Fili and Kili had always occupied a certain space in it, but it was in the same way that Frodo had – as family love and nothing more.

It didn’t take long for them to extinguish their campfire and then they were on their way once more. The day turned into night and they made camp on the edge of the road and had a dinner of roasted rabbit and the rest of the rosemary bread with a couple of toasted apples with cinnamon for dessert. Bofur entertained them all about how a friend of his had broken the nose off of a statue of Dain by trying to carve after ten pints of honeyed mead. The general consensus had been that the statue had looked better for the damage and it had eventually been broken down so as not to offend the ruler of the Iron Hills too badly. Several of the dwarves laughed so hard that their eyes grew glassy with tears. Bilbo just smiled and chewed on his rabbit.

For three days they traveled further and further east. The weather grew colder as the land sloped upwards and the chill of the Misty Mountains washed down upon them. The tops of them were still decorated with snow and the small rivers that washed down from their slopes were complete ice melt stripping down to their skin the minute they found a pool deep enough. ‘To wash off the smell of elf’ they said when Bilbo gaped at them and dubbed them all insane. The hobbit stayed comfortably on the shore and brushed his feet with a comb he’d tucked into a protected pocket of his rucksack while the other laughed and splashed each other. By the time the dwarves strangled out of the water their hair was plastered to their heads and their teeth were chattering and their bits had shrunk up to the point that they could have all been mistaken for rather hairy lady-dwarves. Bilbo did his best not to laugh but Dwalin caught his smirk and threatened to toss him in the pool clothes and all to see how much he shriveled up.

They reached the foot of the mountain path late on the fourth day. There they paused, all eyes trained on the foreboding peaks that rose above their heads like jagged teeth. Bilbo shivered and hunched his shoulders. He knew of no other route through the mountain so the road had been their only option. Perhaps with the ponies with them they would be able to make good enough time to make it past the rock giants and the goblins caves before the storm hit them and brought disaster with it. Would having the ponies make things worse? They were ahead by a full day as far as Bilbo could remember, so maybe that would give them the time they needed to get through the mountains safely. Of course, last time he’d thought he was doing well by changing the course of history they had nearly been run down on the road by orcs and killed. Sweat broke out of his brow despite the icy wind.

 “We’ll rest here for the night,” called back Thorin. “There’s no use traveling in the mountains in the dark or we may lose one of the ponies over the edge.”

This declaration was met with complete agreement from everyone else and they all groaned and stretched as they clambered off of their mounts and stretched their tired legs. Bilbo and Oin dug out their tins of salve for saddle sores and those who were sore enough stripped down to their small clothes and smeared the minty paste on the insides of their thighs.

So when three strangers suddenly appeared in the middle of their camp half of them were literally caught with their pants down.

Thorin roared with fury as a blade appeared at his neck and the two other dwarves had Dwalin pined to the ground with blades at each of his eyes. For a moment no one dared to move until another blade, long and hooked and as sharp as a razor came to rest against the throat of the dwarf who had his blade at Thorin’s neck.

“You’ll be wanting to put that down right now, friend,” said Nori in a deadly calm voice.

“Nori?”

“Ferran?”

Bilbo watched in bemusement from where he sat on a rock with his trousers around his ankles and his hands covered in salve as every knife disappeared in the blink of an eye and Nori embraced the dwarf who had been just threatening Thorin’s jugular.

“What just happened?” Whispered Ori as he struggled to get his own pants back on. The poor scribe clearly wasn’t used to spending days on horseback and his legs had been black and blue.

“I-I’m not quite sure. It looks like Nori knows them though.”

Dori stalked over, looking like a thunderhead. “No doubt some of his back alley friends from when he was wandering around who knows where. Never let him bring them home though – they would have stolen everything that wasn’t nailed down and probably smashed my tea pots.”

“Maybe,” mumbled Ori. “But they don’t seem that bad.”

“They were going to stab – “

“Maybe it’s just how those kinda folk say hello,” Bofur said around his pipe stem as he wandered over, buttoning up his pants and smelling like salve and smoke.

The glare the miner got for his efforts would have made anyone else feel about as tall as a field mouse. Luckily Bofur’s good nature seemed to diffuse the brunt of it and the remainder bounced off of his hat. Or maybe the cow eyes he was giving the irate Dori made him immune to his wrath.

The three dwarves were indeed old friends of Nori’s and had traveled with him between Ered Luin and Rohan while they smuggled a king’s ransom worth of rubies out of the mountain. Ferran was in charge of their little band. He was an older dwarf with jet black hair and a beard that he had braided around his throat like a choker necklace. Yerthic and Varthic were twins, even younger than Fili and Kili. Their eyes were dark and darted around like feral beasts and their hands never strayed far from the blades at their hips. They spoke in short words and only when Ferran spoke to them directly. Otherwise any attempt to engage them in conversation was met with suspicious looks and snarls.

“We’ve come in from the East, travelin’ about and testin’ the waters over that way.” Ferrin had settled himself next to Nori around their fire that evening, clearly understanding that no one else particularly wanted to be next to him after the entrance he’d made.

“Aye, we’re heading that way ourselves. Heading up to meet Dain and see if he could use a few more workers.” It was the cover story they had come up with after their departure for Rivendell, just in case they needed to explain why such a large party of dwarves was heading east with no wagons like the usual caravans.

“Turnin’ to honest work, Nori? I thought better of you.”

“Well I have my brothers to look after now, and Dori doesn’t like me bringing home the king’s crown and hiding it under his bed.”

The firelight made Dori’s furious eyes practically glow with wrath and Bilbo had to wonder for a moment if Nori had indeed done such a thing. The way Thorin tensed next to him made it even more probable.  

“I don’t doubt it. You never told me your brother was such a looker.” Ferran winked at Dori across the fire and it was only Ori and Dwalin’s grips on his sleeves that kept the stout dwarf from going after Ferran like a wild boar. Nori just puffed at his pipe and didn’t say anything, which was probably for the best.

“Anyway, you don’t want to be takin’ the mountain path if you’re headin’ for Dain’s mountain. The giants have been kickin’ up a fuss lately. Lost two of our boys to their battles and half of our gear. That’s why we came down on your camp like we did – just to snag a thing or two and be on our way so getting’ back up home would be a bit more comfy. No hard feelings, right?”

“Not a one, I would have done the same to you.”

“You always were a good sort. But hear this, I’ve been havin’ a bit of a think and I’ve come up with that you should come up with us! Got ourselves a nice little nook carved out of the Misties and were snug as a bear in his bolt hole.”

Eyebrows shot up all over the camp. “But what about the goblins?” Asked Bombur around his mouthful of apple.

“They don’t bother us none,” growled Varthic. “Got ourselves some traps.”

“They tried once. Never again,” agreed Yerthic.

“We don’t want to impose,” snapped Thorin in a way that made it very clear that he wasn’t keen on bedding down with whatever sort of folk Ferran and the twins would keep company with. Thieves and cutthroats tended to band together no matter what their breeding or species.

Ferran happily accepted a bowl of stew and slurped at it noisily. Even an attack by bandits hadn’t been enough to keep Bombur from setting up supper and it gave everyone something to do with their hands other than reach for their weapons. “Well it you’re still set on headin’ east, you can use our tunnel through. Doesn’t go th’ whole way but it’ll get you past some of the hardships. Comes out at the river and there’s a bandit tribe or two that way, but it’s safer than the high pass right now what with the giants and the goblins. Ain’t safe these days, I’m tellin’ you.”

If Nori felt any pride at this fortuitous discovery he kept it off of his face. “That’s a kindness, Ferran.”

“Well you helped me out of a tight spot or two, ‘S the least I can do. Hope you can stay for a bit though - the boys‘ll all be happy to see you. I was just wonderin’ to meself the other day where you’d got off to, but now I see you took up with your of vagabonds. Life’s funny that way, eh?”

 _Very funny indeed_ , thought Bilbo as he spooned stew into his mouth and did his best to inch a little bit closer to Thorin without anybody noticing.

It looked like fate was on his side after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the start of our first big non-canon adventure! I'm almost giddy. Here's hoping I can do it justice.


	17. Into the Thieves' Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

It took two days to travel north but Bilbo was too happy about not having to brave the mountain and the giants to complain about a couple extra days of traveling via pony. There had been a bit of grumbling from the others dwarves about this but none of them seemed to have a death wish and that was exactly what awaited them if they chose to take the High Pass. If they weren’t crushed by the overactive stone giants then they were sure to become prisoners of the goblins who were known to enjoy a bit of dwarf flesh now and then. The idea had made several of them go rather gray and after that the muttering about the extra travel time had become much quieter. It began to drizzle on the second day as a storm blew in from the west and covered everything in a heavy fog as the warm summer wind met the snow on the Misty Mountains. It cloaked everything and seemed to seep into every nook and cranny it could get its chill fingers into. Even this couldn’t diminish Bilbo’s good cheer, though he stopped smiling quite so much when his nose began to run like a faucet.

“Good,” grumbled Gloin from his right side when Bilbo had to stop humming to blow his nose for what felt like the hundredth time. The banker’s massive beard had appeared to have smelled to twice its usual size as it soaked up water like a sponge and he had to keep pushing it down to see over the top of it. “The smilin’ was startin’ ta get on my nerves. I don’t care what anyone else says, nobody is meant to be that happy in this weather.”

At least the congestion was good for one thing – he didn’t have to put up with the stink of wet pony and wetter dwarf. For all that they had scrubbed themselves clean just recently the water made their clothes cling to them and the smell of horsehair rubbed off on everything and made everyone wrinkle their noses. Bilbo just sniffled wetly. Varthic and Yerthic remained sullenly silent and rode at the back of their little party, speaking to no one but each other. Fili and Kili seemed the most disheartened by this since the twins were the first dwarves they’d met since departing who were anywhere close to their ages with the exception of Ori, and it seemed that the twins wanted nothing to do with any of them.

Everyone was well ready to have a bit of a break from the weather by the time they reached the thieves’ den. Without Ferran to guide them in Bilbo didn’t think that they ever would have found the place since it was so well concealed. Indeed, the entrance appeared to be just one of thousands of other stones and boulders that lay at the foot of the mountains until Ferran gave a short whistle by sticking two of his fingers in his mouth. Then one of the rocks seemed to crumble into itself as two more dwarves emerged. They were almost as feral-looking as the twins, with their beards done up into tight braids close to their faces. A gray cloth done up to match the surrounding stones had been draped over a cleverly constructed metal frame and it easily disguised the tunnel that lay beneath it. It was tall and wide enough that they could have ridden their ponies straight through, but the beasts were quickly commandeered by the two new dwarves, who Bilbo learned were named Bantor and Vaun.

Seeing the others gathering up their gear before the ponies were lead away, Bilbo did the same. He didn’t know when the next time he’d have a chance to see Myrtle again so it was probably best that he kept his things close. They were in a bolt hole after all – there was no telling whether he’d have anything left at all if he let his knapsack get out of his sight. If Nori had sticky fingers what would a whole band of thieves be like? The hobbit clutched his bag a bit tighter and stayed firmly glued to Bofur’s side as they were lead through the tunnels. Of the lot of them only the miner seemed at all comfortable with their impromptu lodgings, though Bilbo suspected he would have been equally happy in a cave or on the side of a mountain.

“It’ll all turn out well enough, you’ll see” he comforted the hobbit and rested a gloved hand on his shoulder. “These’re Nori’s folk and if they got a way through the mountain that don’t involve goblins or the like I’m all for it. ‘Sides, maybe they’ll have somethin’ other than stew and cram to spare if we can do a bit of tradin’.”

The thieves’ den seemed to wind through and through like an ant nest, with interconnecting tunnels and great open spaces lit only by torches that emitted a foul, black smoke.

“Used to be goblin tunnels,” Ferran told them as they climbed up a ladder to yet another level. “We drove ‘em out a couple years back and took the place over since. They didn’t like havin’ us here but we showed ‘em we can hold our own against anything they send after us. They don’t come close much anymore, just the stupid ones and they don’t ever make it back to their hives again.”

Dark eyes watched their every step though when Bilbo turned to look back over his shoulder there was no one there. The folk of this particular mountain were quick and keen enough to not be spotted when they didn’t want to be. Only whispers reached his ears and the sound of soft leather boots on stone. Bofur’s hand tightened on his shoulder as if to reassure him. It only made him feel marginally better. This wasn’t anything like Erebor – it was tight and smelled like smoke and blood. However long the goblins had been gone the stench of them still hung in their air and made his stomach twist. The quicker they were out of this haunted place the happier he would be. The tunnel may have been a better choice than the High Pass, but this place felt twisted in some way. No good folk dwelled in these tunnels, only the sort who would cheerfully slit your throat while you were sleeping for the beads in your hair. Bilbo ducked his head and tried not to look at the stains on the walls too closely. Fili and Kili crowded up against his back, seeming almost as nervous as he was. They each grabbed one of his hands and hung onto it as they all followed Ferran ever deeper into the tunnels and the warmth of their grip helped to steady him a little more.

He had to be braver than this. It had fallen on him to look after the Durins after all and if he shrunk away from new dangerous like a fainting flower he wouldn’t be doing a very good job of it. The folded list in his pocket reminded him of his duty. So he hung onto their hands and did his best to look as intimidating as a hobbit could manage when he was underground and surrounded by thieves and murderers. Apparently it worked well enough because no one approached them, though that was more likely because of the way Dwalin kept both of his axes in his hands.

“And ‘ere we are at our lavish guest rooms!” Crowed Ferran and Bilbo heard Nori laugh from up ahead. “Only got three of ‘em so you can split’m up as ya see fit. Get comfy for a bit and I’ll be back ‘for you know it and we’ll have a bite. The boss is gonna want a chat with all of you lot so don’t go wanderin’ much. Nobody got the time to go look for you if you get turned around if you get my drift.”

Thorin growled.

It didn’t need to be said that Thorin and his nephews would take one of the rooms, but everyone seemed surprised when the brothers insisted that Bilbo be allowed to room with them as well.

“No, I really don’t need to. I’m small; I can just fit in a corner in one of the other rooms. No one will even know I’m there.”

“Aye, the lad can bed down with us, don’t worry your heads,” agreed Bofur.

The uproar that went up from Fili and Kili made all of them, including Dwalin and Thorin, take a step backwards.

“No we want him – “

“He won’t take up any space at – “

“- and he doesn’t roll over or snore – “

“- doesn’t smell like pony – “

“- he _likes_ us – “

“You’ve all been hogging him, so it’s our turn!”

“Enough!” Bellowed Thorin, which instantly put an end to the one-sided argument, though the brothers still managed to look more than a little mutinous. “The Halfling will stay in our room during our stay in this place. Divide the other two up among you as you see fit.” And with that the king turned and disappeared through the rickety wooden door, leaving the rest of them standing out in the tunnel.

“I really wish he’d stop calling me that,” mumbled Bilbo as he scuffed his heels across the uneven floor, not really wanting to go into the little room where he’d be packed in with the Durins. He would have been much happier with Balin or Bofur or the Ri brothers just because they didn’t make his insides twist up like tree roots. But at least now he could keep an eye on all three of them. That Thorin thought him a widower made everything so much easier now – it explained away the times they’d caught him watching and the wistful expression he hadn’t known he’d worn.

_Oh why did I have to decide that I was in love with the most stubborn, rude dwarf east of the sea? I could have settled down with a perfectly lovely hobbit woman and had too many children who would have turned my hair gray before I reached sixty, but no, I had to go and get myself attached to a dwarf who died before I’d known him for a proper year and left me to live out the rest of my life in a misery I didn’t know I was even living._

And it had indeed been miserable, heartbreakingly so because he hadn’t known how unhappy he’d been. Frodo had helped to chase away the loneliness and the emptiness of Bag End, but there had been a space in him that had remained stubbornly empty.

 _And it’ll stay that way,_ he told himself sternly. _He isn’t the same dwarf you knew and you can’t afford to be mooning over him like a calf. The first thing to do is make sure that everyone survives this mad journey. Then you can figure out how to keep going on after you have to let him go again._

The rooms were small and dark, but they were better than camping on the side of the mountain in the rain. The was one rickety bed covered with threadbare sheets in each one as well as a chair and a writing desk of sorts though Bilbo doubted that anyone in this place would have used it for penning very many letters. Thorin had already shed his overcoat and hung it over the back of the chair by the time the rest of the company split into groups to check out their own accommodations.

“So we’re staying the night?” Asked Kili as he collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. The frame creaked alarmingly but managed to hold his weight.

“I’ll decide that once we meet the master of this foul place. If he turns out to be as slimy as the rest of the inhabitants we might be best making for the tunnel as quickly as possible. I don’t trust anyone here not to sneak in while we sleep and bury their blades in our hearts if they discover who it is they’re harboring.”

“Now that’s no way to speak of old friends, is it?” Came a foreign voice from the doorway. Instantly Bilbo’s hand snapped to the handle of Sting and he had it halfway drawn before Thorin’s hand on his arm stilled him. 

An imposing figure stood in the door, lit from behind by one of the torches. The dwarf was large, as large as Dwalin if Bilbo had to hazard a guess which would have put him at nearly five feet high without his boots on. He had a long beard that had been braided into a single plait that was so long he could tuck it into his belt, while the rest of his mane had been broken up into hundreds of smaller braids that went down to his waist. There wasn’t a single strand of hair that hadn’t been woven into the mass and the way it moved reminded Bilbo very much of a nest of snakes he had uncovered one summer after his walking stick had gone right through the ground and into their coiling, hissing mass.

“Karhon!” Shouted Fili and leapt at the dwarf with his arms wide. “We thought you were dead! Mum cried for days, you should have seen her. She would beat you over the head with her mace if she knew that you were walking around!”

Bilbo was keenly aware that Thorin’s hand had tightened and it wasn’t to hold him back any more. The king was practically vibrating with tension.

The dwarf, Karhon, caught Fili with one arm and Bilbo winced as the two bashed their foreheads together in the universal dwarf greeting. No wonder they had so few brains or common sense – it was all shaken out of them before they had reached their majority. Kili had rolled right off the bed again and was chattering with his dwarf while the other dwarf laughed with obvious good humor.

A quick glance backwards showed his that Thorin wasn’t nearly as happy to see Karhon as his nephews. “Do we not like him?” The hobbit murmured softly.

Thorin grunted and released his hold so that Bilbo could sheathe his sword. “I’m not sure yet. Stay on your guard.” Then he approached the other dwarf, his steps measured as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome. “Karhon. You caused us all a lot of grief.”

“Ah so now I’m worth your attention!” Roared Karhon. His voice was expansive enough that Bilbo could feel it in his belly, but it didn’t seem to hold any of the ill will that Thorin had expected. “And here I thought you were goin’ to leave me with these warg pups to yip at for the rest of the evenin’. Get over here you bastard.” A highly undignified noise was forced out of Thorin’s lungs as Karhon reached out and seized him by the front of his coat and cracked their heads together. The king stumbled back looking dazed while his nephews did their best to hide their snickers behind hacking coughs.

“Never thought I’d see the day when I’d find you lot here as my guests. Had I known you were passin’ through I might have had somebody dust the place a bit. Put some flowers on the pillows.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” mumbled Bilbo as he sniffled into his sleeve, but nobody heard him over the laughter and the sudden burst of conversation. Fili was doing his best to fill the other dwarf in on their adventures while Kili continued on about how Dis was going to rip Karhon’s arms off when she found out he was alive. Thorin seemed content to seize the bigger dwarf by the front of his dark blue cape and give him a good hard shake, swearing at him in Khuzdul. Bilbo just stood well back and watched the reunion. Whoever this dwarf was he had clearly been close to the Durins before his ‘demise’. That didn’t necessarily make him safe in the hobbit’s mind, but at least he had risen above the ranks of the rest of the denizens of this forsaken hole in the mountain.

It took a few minutes but eventually the din died down a bit and Thorin stopped cursing. Bilbo suspected that he had simply used up his entire vocabulary’s worth of bad words.

“Hey hey, you said Balin’s here too? That old rascal I haven’t seen him since he came by sobbin’ because his brother had shaved all his hair off to get those tattoos of his. We’ll all catch up over a bit of dinner, eh? Tell me the whole story, I know Fili said somethin’ bout trolls and that’s always good fun.” Karhon turned for the door but paused when Kili yelped.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Hm? Oh this thing?” The dwarf lifted up his right arm and Bilbo saw that it ended in a well-wrapped stump rather than a proper limb. Since it was swathed in velvet and cloth rather than bandages he figured it must have been an old wound rather than a fresh one, but clearly it was recent enough that had hadn’t had it the last time he had encountered the brothers.

The dwarf smiled and gave his beard a tug with his other hand. “Skinny old wolf took it off. Would have taken the other one with it if not for your uncle. I get along alright without it though.” He glanced over at Thorin and the two of them shared ‘a look’. “Before we run off to round up the others though, I got to have a talk with you three and maybe the rest as well. It might not be best if you go about announcing that you’re who you are – this lot won’t take well to it. They got no love for you and yours, Thorin. Your da’ and back on weren’t kind to law breakers and Dwalin tossed more than his fair share in a cell. Just don’t let ‘em see you too close and you should be fine. We’ll get you on your way again before any trouble can come about. Be a shame to see you gone so soon after we’ve met again, eh?”

“A shame indeed,” murmured Thorin, but he seemed to accept this and gestured for Bilbo to follow after them as they left the little bedroom to collect the others for dinner.

Bilbo kept his sword buckled onto his belt just in case.

__________________________________

Dinner was a rather easy affair once all was said and done. Most of the other dwarves seemed overjoyed to see Karhon, though they managed to restrain themselves until they were in a private dining room that Karhon had assured them was safe from any prying eyes. Then the whole lot of them burst into laughter and cheering and conversations, praising their good luck at running across him and besieging him with questions about how he had come to dwell in such a place when the last they had heard he had met his end out on the road. Bilbo dragged his own chair into the corner after he had collected a plate of what tasted like bear meat and some slightly stale bread. At least the drink was good and he happily indulged himself in a second cup as he listened with half an ear to the back and forth talk. It reminded him very much of another dinner that he had been an outsider in, a long time ago.

In bits and pieces the story came out. Karhon had been one of the refugees of Erebor who had settled in the Blue Mountains along with Thorin. He had fought next to Balin and Dwalin at Moria and had been one of their closest friends until he had suddenly vanished thirty years earlier and had been announced as dead while traveling. Cleary those reports had been false because he had traveled east and met with some petty thieves traveling back the way he had come. They had come up with a business venture.

“With the elves?” Dwalin asked in disgust.

“Don’t pull that face with me,” Karhon grunted around his mouthful of meat. “They were more than happy to take our work. We traded with craftsmen in all of our cities and sent the stuff off to them. You know how they like the shinies. Got medicine, wine, and chocolate in return and sent that back into the markets. Turned a pretty penny doing it too.”

Nori’s smile could have split his face in half. “Better than starving in the mountains.”

“Knew I always liked you for a reason, Nori.”

“Nah, you just liked my pretty face.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Karhon said amiably and everyone laughed into their dinner. The tension faded somewhere between the first and third round of ale and by the time the time the last of the food had been done away with everyone was relaxing comfortably into their chairs and loosening their belts a bit.

Bilbo had curled up with his feet tucked under him. It was probably too much to hope for a hot bath here, but they were bound to have some form of running water if they lived in a place like this year-round. He’d test his bravery in the morning and see what he could find. The master of the den seemed to realize that everyone was full and tired from their travels because he rose and stretched with a groan.

“I’m getting too old for this sort of excitement. I’m headin’ to my bed and I suggest you lot do the same. Tomorrow we’ll have a nice long chat about bring you to my little kingdom and what I can do to get you out of it again. I know this may be safer than the mountain, but I’d still sleep with one eye open. I might have the final word here but that doesn’t mean my men won’t test it now and again just to see if I still have sharp teeth.” The dwarf grinned wolfishly. “Which I do.”

With those encouraging words at their backs the company dispersed back to their rooms. The moment the door shut behind them Fili and Kili instantly began to strip out of their coats and boots and climbed into the single bed. Kili set to unbraiding his brother’s hair and they both kept up a steady stream of chatter about what Dis was going to do to Karhon when she discovered that their old friend had been keeping them in the dark about his survival for thirty-odd years. Bilbo winced when they described in exquisite detail what they’d seen their mother do with a carving knife to a drunk who had gotten too friendly.  

“And then remember when she – Bilbo, what are you doing?”

Bilbo looked up from his bag. “Undoing my bedroll?”

Kili looked crestfallen. “But we wanted you to sleep with us!” Fili nodded in agreement and then winced when Kili pulled on his braid.

Feeling heat rise up in his face again, Bilbo busied himself with the straps that held his blanket on again. “There’s hardly room for three in that little bed. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. Besides, where will your uncle sleep?”

“I’ll be taking the chair,” grumbled Thorin from where he’d been leaning against the wall, apparently lost in thought.

“See? It’s fine. Besides, you’re warm and what if we catch a chill and then die horribly in our sleep?”

“You certainly didn’t inherit your tendency for dramatics from Thorin’s side of the family.” But he allowed himself to be cajoled into the rickety bed anyway if only because he knew it would be warmer than sleeping on the floor and he wasn’t at all fond of denying himself simple comforts when they were there for the taking. “The minute one of you gets too handsy I’m going to do the same thing to you with my sword that your mum did to that drunk, you hear me?”

The brothers went pale and instantly agreed to keep their hands to themselves and Bilbo found himself very comfortably situated between the two of them once he’d rid himself of his coat. Fili pressed up against his right side so that Bilbo’s head was tucked under his chin while Kili wriggled down a bit lower and wrapped his arms around the hobbit’s waist. Both of them seemed more than happy with this arrangement though Bilbo had a feeling he’d be waking up with both of them having rolled on top of him some time during the night. When the cold had started to set in on their journey he had often found himself rolling closer to one of two of the dwarves to share body heat. Usually it was Bofur because he was the most amiable and didn’t snore as badly as some of the others, but Fili and Kili had apparently felt cheated out of their turn at burglar-snuggling and were making up for it. Instantly Bilbo felt a bit suffocated from the heat pressing in on him from both sides, but it was still better than sleeping on the floor. Thorin gave him an amused look as he settled himself in the chair by the door with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed against his chest.

It took Fili and Kili less than a minute to fall asleep and their soft snores ruffled Bilbo’s hair. Rather than joining them though, the hobbit lay awake and traced the cracks in the stone ceiling with his eyes. There was something that still wasn’t adding up to him. Everyone else had been perfectly happy to see their host again with the exception of Thorin. Why had he been so tense when Karhon had first appeared? He had seemed the epitome of friendliness and yet Thorin had doubted his welcome. Whatever was between the two dwarves hadn’t been brought to light over dinner, so now Bilbo turned it over in his head while he waited for sleep to take him. Did he present a danger? Was he hiding some dark intentions towards the company or was Thorin simply being paranoid over nothing?

A quick glance across the room showed him that Thorin’s head had fallen forward onto his chest and that he was breathing as slowly as his nephews. They’d all been tired and the heavy meal they’d been treated to had done nothing to help keep them awake. The king sniffed in his sleep and slid a bit lower in the chair and Bilbo sighed.

A minute later he had managed to remove himself from the tight grips of the slumbering brothers and was undoing the clasps on his blanket again. The floor was cold and slightly damp beneath his feet and he cringed as he cross the little room and carefully draped the olive-colored wool blanket over Thorin’s chest and legs. The king didn’t stir. In sleep the lines that time and stress had etched around his eyes were lessened somewhat and gave Bilbo a better idea of what he must have looked like what he’d been younger. Before he had grown so jaded and bitter. Maybe his blue eyes had been warm at some point rather than always carrying the shadow of suspicion and anger that they did now.

“What am I going to do with you?” Bilbo whispered as he leaned in and ever so gently pressed his lips against the corner of Thorin’s mouth.

__________________________________

Thorin watched the hobbit trot back over to the bed and wriggle back into the arms of his nephews from under his eyelashes. He had been close to sleep when he’d heard Bilbo shuffling around, but it had been the feeling of the blanket being set over him that had jerked him back to full awareness. He hadn’t moved or adjusted his breathing though, not wanting to spook the hobbit. Indeed, he hadn’t even opened his eyes until he had felt the kiss. It was impossible to mistake for anything else, even if he had wanted to.

It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to jump of stiffen in his chair at the feeling. It had been a long time since he had last felt another’s lips. In Ered Luin he had been too busy trying to keep his family and people alive to take a lover, and by the time they were comfortably situated again he had lost most of the desire to take one at all. There had been the occasional warm body, but that had always been more to release tension when battle or work wasn’t enough more than out of any desire for an emotional connection.

This was another kettle of fish altogether. Bilbo had indeed confessed to being a widower, and to a male dwarf at that, but he had also said that his love had never been returned. Did the kiss mean that he was open to being courted again? Or was it only a gesture of affection between comrades? Hobbits seemed like more touch-oriented people than dwarves so for all he knew it could have meant nothing at all.

Somehow he knew that wasn’t the case.

 _What is he going to do indeed,_ he thought as he shut his eyes again, blocking out the sight of that curly hair tucked securely between his nephews. _More importantly, what am I going to do?_

He could only hope that morning would bring some sort of revelation about how to deal with his stubborn, vexing, and thoroughly perplexing burglar. 

Karhon by [asparklethatisblue](http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/76546830136/karhon-mariejacquelyns-oc-from-her-fic-an/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, the chapters about new adventures are turning out to be harder than I thought since now I have to have new characters to help carry the plot along. Rest assured that none of them will be taking over the spotlight and I'll try to keep every original character as believable as possible.


	18. The Best-Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A
> 
> Please note that I have fudged the history of Ered Luin in this chapter. In my headcanon Ered Luin was ruled by dwarves who were not of the line of Durin, but Thorin took over after the one mentioned died childless under mysterious circumstances. I apologize to all of the purists, I'll try not to do this too often.

When Bilbo awoke the next morning (or at least he assumed it was morning since there was no way to see the sun from the tunnel to tell properly) there was no sign of Thorin. His greatcoat was gone from the back of the chair and his pack was missing from the small pile against the wall. Fili and Kili had indeed managed to thrash around in their sleep and Fili was lying with one arm and one leg thrown over Bilbo while Kili had rolled away from both of them and stolen all of the blankets. Bilbo huffed and spit out part of Fili’s mustache before giving the young prince a hard enough shove to roll him off.

“That is the last time I share a bed with either of you. I feel half smothered and I’m bound to have bruises from your jabbing elbows,” he reprimanded them both as he clambered out of bed and pulled on his coat. The only answer he received was a snore.

Since both of the boys seemed determined to sleep until somebody tipped them out onto the floor Bilbo decided to take a private moment to amend his list. The poor piece of parchment was crinkled and tattered at all of the corners and the ink had bled terribly over half of it. Next time he saw Ori he would have to beg a new piece off of the scribe and somehow avoid telling him what he wanted it for.

 

_‘Strictly Required’_

 - ~~Find troll hoard and get swords~~

 - ~~Talk to Elrond~~

 - Get magic ring

 - Go to Beorn’s house

 - Get Thranduil’s help with final battle

 - Talk to Bard and the Master about an alliance with Erebor

 - Kill Smaug

 - Kill Azog

 - Kill Bolg

 - Reclaim Erebor

 - Go home

 

_‘Not Necessarily Necessary’_

 - ~~Fight trolls~~

 - ~~Get chased by orcs to Rivendell~~

 - ~~Get captured by goblins~~

 - Fall down a ravine and talk to Gollum

 - Get cornered on cliff

 - Get lost in Mirkwood

 - Get imprisoned by Thranduil

 - Set Smaug on Laketown

 - Fight against the men and elves

 - Get hit in the head with a rock

 

_‘Avoid At All Costs’_

 - Let the Durins Die

 

Bilbo stopped in his scribbling and tapped the tip of his quill against his bottom lip, thinking about all of the things that they had been through already that he never would have thought to include on his list. Entirely new adventures that had forced him to think on the fly and adapt, most of them brought about because of something he’d said or done. Keeping hold of the ponies had put them ahead of schedule and that had put them into Ferran’s path, and subsequently brought them to the thieves’ den. No amount of foreknowledge could help him in a place he had never seen or been before and Bilbo suddenly felt very blind. How was he supposed to keep an eye on everyone and keep them out of danger if he didn’t know what sort of dangers were coming?

“You’ll just have to be quick and smart, Bilbo Baggins,” he whispered to himself as he tucked the list back into his coat pocket and slipped the quill and ink into his bag. There was nothing else he could do but his best right now and his best didn’t include sitting around and worrying about the what-ifs.

Kili rolled over in bed so that his face was mashed against the belly of his brother’s night shirt and mumbled something about ham. Bilbo crossed the room to stand next to the bed and looked down at his two charges. They seemed so much younger now than they had when he had first met them, but perhaps that was just because he was seeing them out of older eyes. Their exuberance and constant energy was something he had never been able to understand until he had figured out that in hobbit years they would have hardly been half his own age. Barely more than children who had never seen true battle.

Tentatively reaching out, Bilbo caught a strand of Kili’s hair and rubbed it between his fingers. It was soft and tangled so he carefully began to work out the knots he found, smoothing back the unruly mane. Had Thorin’s been this untamable when he had been younger? Now he kept more or less under control but Bilbo could easily imagine that it had been very much like Kili’s at some point, with a mind of its own and a habit of attracting twigs and knots in equal measure. Not that his had been any different Bilbo thought ruefully. Every evening Belladonna had fussed over him and threatened to cut the whole mop clean off if he didn’t stop getting mud and all manner of sticky things caught in it. Beneath his hands Kili shifted in his sleep and curled up tighter against Fili.

“Mum?” He yawned.

Bilbo just made a shushing noise and kept untangling the young dwarf’s hair. Fili cracked open an eye at him from over the top of Kili’s head. “Time to get up?” He asked softly.

“I don’t think so, or else somebody would have come to fetch us. I’m going to go look for a bath and then maybe we can find something for breakfast that isn’t infested with vermin or seasoned with goblin blood.”

“I like that idea.” The prince’s eyes shut again and he was asleep again before Bilbo could say another word. Everyone had been pushing themselves hard since they left Rivendell and sleeping in a real bed was a luxury that was almost too good to pass on by getting up early. The desire to find somewhere to bathe was only slightly more tempting than wriggling his way back between the warm and drowsy brothers for a couple more hours of sleep. It was too bad that the best kitchen he could find around here was probably a pot over a fire and that really wasn’t the best thing for making pastries with, otherwise he could have done something with the few apples they had leftover in their packs. So a bath it was and then probably leftover stew to settle his complaining belly.

The hobbit slipped out of the door as quietly as he could, his pack clutched in one hand so that he didn’t have to leave it behind where it might get nabbed by some unsavory type who came snooping around where they weren’t wanted. The tunnel stretched off in either direction and Bilbo found himself at a loss for which way to go to search out some sort of water source. In fact he probably couldn’t have found his way back to the entrance if anyone had asked him. It was only because Ferran had been leading them that he had made it this far into the maze in the first place.

“Confound these dwarves and their fondness for dark and damp places,” he muttered as he shouldered his pack and started down one of the halves. Back to Karhon’s dining room it was, then. Maybe the smuggler lord could point him in the right direction before one of his subjects decided a plump hobbit would make an easy mark and robbed him blind.

“This is a bit more damp than we usually prefer, master hobbit,” came a voice from behind him and Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as it sent a shiver right up from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears. “Might I ask where you’re off wandering to without an escort?”

“I’m not a delicate lady who needs a chaperon to make sure she stays out of trouble,” Bilbo said sourly, turning about to fix Thorin with a baleful glare. How did he manage to always turn up when Bilbo least wanted to see him? The kiss last night had drained him of almost all of his bravery where Thorin was concerned and now he just wanted to retreat completely and mull it over for a bit. It was damn lucky he hadn’t been caught in his moment of absolute insanity – no doubt the dwarf wouldn’t have responded at all favorably to such an advance. Luckily nothing had come of it and he had been able to spend the rest of the night in a sleep so deep that no distressing dreams regarding a certain king had been able to intrude.

“If you were a lady you might have hair long enough to braid and that would work in your favor in this company,” Throin said reasonably, his thick fingers busy redoing the twin braids that usually hung over his ears. The rest of his hair was wet and wild as if he’d just recently washed it and that was the only thing that helped Bilbo rip his mesmerized gaze away from the delicate movements. Dwarves and their braids had always been a source of fascination to him. That such a thing could be considered effeminate by certain races such as men and hobbits and yet still represent a warrior’s pride and other such important meanings for dwarves intrigued Bilbo to no end. Some braids meant marriage and children while others stood for honor won in battle and each had their own special way of being twined. Thorin’s were probably for either royalty or battle-honor. Bilbo had never asked.

“Well it’s a moot point because I am neither a lady nor do I wear any braids since I’m a hobbit and am unlikely to magically grow a beard or long hair as fine as yours. Did you come from a bath?”

Thorin had paused in his braiding, his hands stilling while still tangled in the dark strands and his brow furrowed as if he was thinking rather hard about something. “Yes,” he finally said. Whatever conclusion he had come to during that long moment had clearly not been meant for hobbit ears.

 _Then again, I have to wonder if he’s actually thinking half the time or just looking fierce for the sake of it,_ Bilbo thought to himself and tried not to smile. The line of Durin was very famous for their bravery and battle prowess but that didn’t mean that they were the quickest or most intelligent line to ever walk beneath the mountains. 

“Yes and…” Bilbo drawled. “Where might I find one?”

That seemed to shake the king out of his questionable thoughts. “Back the way I have come from. I’ll show you. It wouldn’t serve any of us well if you got lost and we had to waste time bringing you back again.”

“I’m not the one who got lost twice on his way through the Shire.” Bilbo shook his head as he followed after Thorin and ran straight into his back when the dwarf froze. “What?”

The dwarf king turned and looked down at him, suspicion glittering in his eyes. “How did you know I got lost twice? I was sitting on your porch when first we met so you couldn’t have known that.”

Bilbo’s mind went blank as he stared up at Thorin, his mouth moving soundlessly as his mind raced, searching for a lie. How had he been so careless? Had he simply grown too comfortable with his company to remember how carefully he needed to watch his tongue? “I – I – I,” he stuttered, “I h-heard Dwalin talking about your sense of direction. I was just j-joking. Sorry, won’t happen again.”

Thorin’s glare eased slightly and he nodded a bit before continuing down the tunnel, Bilbo trailing in his wake and shaking in reaction. That had been too close.

“He does like to go on about that. Once in Erebor we both wandered off into the ruby mines and were separated. I was lost for nearly six hours before Dwalin and a few of the miners managed to find me again. After that my father didn’t trust me out on my own further than the main halls and assigned Dwalin as my bodyguard because he had the sense to notice which way he was walking. I tend to pay attention to things other than whether I turned right or left at the last fork in the road.”

“So should I really trust you to lead me to the baths?” The skepticism in the Hobbit’s voice was very evident.

Thorin’s barking laugh echoed down the empty tunnel. “It’s straight ahead, burglar. No need to worry about getting turned around with me here. Neither of us would ever live it down.”

And he was right, although the description of ‘baths’ had been stretched a bit. Instead Bilbo was met with an open cavern about as big as Bag End. The floor was sunken slightly so that the icy water that dripped off of the stalactites above collected in the middle. It wouldn’t have come up to his middle in the deepest part but it was better than nothing.

“I don’t suppose there’s any soap?” He asked wistfully and sighed when Thorin shook his head. “I suppose that would have been too much to hope for with this lot.” At least none of the thieves were down at the moment. No doubt they were out doing their jobs or still in bed. Whatever the time was his internal clock told him that it was still before second breakfast.

“You should be grateful they allowed us into the mountain at all. These people are notoriously suspicious and rarely let outsiders like us intrude. Without Nori’s connections we might have had to take our chances with the giants and the goblins and that’s a fight I am glad to have avoided, even for this.”

“You have no idea,” Bilbo muttered as he shed his coat and vest and folded them up carefully at the edge of the pool and his fingers were already working at the buttons of his shirt when he noticed that Thorin was still standing there with his arms crossed and didn’t seem to have any plans to leave. “Do you mind?”

“No.”

“I prefer my privacy when I bathe, if you don’t mind.”

“There may not be any goblins but I don’t think that it’s safe enough for anyone to be wandering about alone, even if it is just for a bath.”

“You were here by yourself,” Bilbo pointed out, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Even when they had found a river along the journey to wash in he had preferred to go a bit upstream so that he could have as much privacy as a bush or a rock could afford him. It wasn’t that he was shy – had he been his proper age he would have said that he was too old for a silly thing like modesty (he considered his form quite fine as far as hobbits went). The problem had come about the first time he had sat on the edge of the river a month earlier and watched as Thorin pulled off his shirt. The blood had drained straight out of his brain and headed for warmer parts, leaving him as red as his coat and very flustered indeed. After that he had taken to bathing alone and the dwarves had just assumed it was a ‘hobbit thing’.

Apparently that wasn’t going to fly this time. Oh why couldn’t it have been Oin or Bombur he had run into? Then he wouldn’t have had to worry about making things awkward.

“I was here with Karhon, discussing what to do once we have made it through the mountains.” Thorin settled himself on a rock and stretched out his legs, making himself comfortable.

Clearly there was no way to get around it this time. Bilbo could only hope that the torch-lit chamber was dark enough to hide his flush as he stripped out of the rest of his clothes and submerged himself in the frigid water as quickly as possible. If that wasn’t enough to cool his libido he didn’t know what would. “So tell me about Karhon,” he said as he scrubbed at his arms, desperate for anything to distract him from the eyes that he could feel on the back of his neck.

 The silence from behind him made him think that Thorin was going to ignore his question and he resigned himself to a quiet, awkward bath. But then the dwarf king sighed.

“Karhon and I knew each other in Erebor before Smaug came. He was one of my father’s friends and one of the best craftsmen in the kingdom. He created beads and crowns for royalty and was always very close to my family. After we were forced to flee he stayed with us as we traveled to the Blue Mountains. We were met with a…tense situation.”

Bilbo ducked under the water to scrub at his hair and Thorin was courteous enough to wait until he surfaced again, sputtering and blinking the water out of his eyes. “What happened?”

“We were homeless,”” Thorin said, his voice rough. “Injured and starving. Our relationship with the dwarves of Ered Luin had always been strained and their king, Borar, was not eager to take in so many more people. He demanded a price to shelter my people, so I gave him the only thing I had. The Consort’s Ring. Karhon had crafted it for my mother and it had passed to me when she died so that I could give it to my consort. When he found out what I had traded for our safety we fought. He said that our family’s jewels were sacred and shouldn’t be given out to starving wolves and I didn’t see him again for three years.”

Bilbo looked back over his shoulder, intrigued despite himself. “So was all of that paranoia all over a fight?”

Thorin scowled at him. “It isn’t paranoia. The next time I heard about Karhon it was from Dwalin. He had been caught attempting to steal the Consort’s Ring and had been sentenced to death. I made it in time to stop the execution but the King had already enacted the Law of Hands and cut off on of Karhon’s as a price for stealing. The two of them had never gotten on well and I think that Borar reveled in his chance to see Karhon brought so low. I managed to convince Borar to exile him instead. The Consort’s Ring was never recovered and the next day I learned that a squad of warriors had been sent after him. Borar informed me that he would continue to give my people aid even without the ring as long as he had the satisfaction of having Karhon’s head. Until that moment I hadn’t realized that the animosity between them ran so deeply. The warriors returned with a heavily mutilated head and I thought it to be Karhon’s by the hair. Apparently it was not if he’s been here. He always was a sly old dwarf…”

Thorin trailed off, looking thoughtful. By now Bilbo had scrubbed himself pink using his fingernails and one of the scuffing stones that lined the edges of the pool and was beginning to shiver. “Shouldn’t you have been happy to see him if you thought he was dead? You were friends after all.”

Thorin shook his head and then propped his chin on his fist. “No. He never forgave me for giving away what should have been my birthright. He stole it back so that it could remain in the line of Durin and as thanks I had him exiled. He would have preferred to hang, believing that he had done the right thing. Instead I forced him out into what would surely just be a slower death by disease because of his wound or starvation. I was young and stupid for thinking that was a kinder fate.”

“He was your friend! Of course you didn’t want him to die.” Bilbo took his chances and clambered out of the bath, using his coat to quickly dry off before stepping back into his underthings and trousers. When he looked back up Thorin had politely averted his eyes.

“That is no excuse. By pardoning Karhon I showed that I did not respect him, his work, or his loyalty to my family line. He spat at my feet before they threw him out of the city.”

His face was so miserable that Bilbo couldn’t stop himself from going over and putting a wet hand on his shoulder. The Baggins side of him said ‘that’s quite enough, thank you’ while the Took half was doing hand stands while screaming ‘just hug him you fool!’

Reason won, but it was a close thing.

“He seemed happy to see you, and he’s agreed to help us get through the mountains. If that isn’t some sort of forgiveness I don’t know what is.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t – “

They were interrupted by the sound of running footsteps in the tunnel. Bilbo quickly took a step back and removed his hand from Thorin’s shoulder as Nori came around the corner, his normally elaborate hair in disarray. “Sorry to interrupt,” he panted, “but we got a bit of a problem.”

Bilbo was forced back another step and nearly tipped right back into the pool as Thorin rose. “What problem?”

Nori’s quick fingers began to wind and unwind a bit of string in what Bilbo recognized as a nervous habit. “Well you see, I was havin’ a bit of a look around and came across a storage room near the tunnel outta here. These lads have enough explosives stuffed in there to bring down the whole mountain if they had a mind to, but I overheard a few lads talking and it ain’t this mountain they’ve got a mind to bring down.”

Thorin’s eyes went as hard as tempered steel. “Erebor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for more adventure!


	19. Honor and Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mild Violence

_“Did you really think you were the only one to read the signs?”_

__________________________________

Karhon hadn’t been in the dining room when Thorin stormed in a few minutes later with Bilbo and Nori at his heels. A couple of thugs looked up and sneered at them as the trio made their way back to their rooms, though they were quelled by a dark look from Nori that promised knives to the kidneys should they entertain the thought of anything more than unfriendly looks. Thorin and his companions didn’t exactly blend well in the den – Dwalin practically shouted ‘uptight guard’ and the rest could hardly be mistaken for anything less than genteel folk or honest workers.

Bilbo stuck close to Nori’s side, not willing to test Thorin’s temper just yet. The king was in a mood the likes of which Bilbo hadn’t seen in over eighty years when that wrath had been directed at him. Nori seemed to understand that Bilbo had no desire to be near Thorin just yet and managed to position himself so that no matter how the tunnels twisted and turned he managed to be between their company’s leader and the burglar. For all that he and Thorin had managed to speak civilly while he had bathed and seemed to becoming something akin to friends Bilbo couldn’t help but shy away when Thorin’s anger reared its head. It reminded him too much of how the fire in the king’s eyes had turned to ice and hatred while he dangled Bilbo over the edge of the high walls of Erebor.

_“By the beard of Durin! I wish I had Gandalf here! Curse him for his choice of you! May his beard wither! As for you I will throw you to the rocks!”_

Bilbo cringed and fell back a little further. It had been a long time since he had last entertained thoughts of that dark day when he had nearly met his end at the hands of one he thought a friend, but bearing witness to Thorin’s anger as Karhon had brought it back to the forefront of his mind. He much preferred remembering Thorin’s rare smile and his loyalty to his comrades more than the gold-lust madness that had descended on him towards the end. That was just another problem he’d have to figure out how to overcome before they made it to the mountain and that one seemed even more daunting than escaping from the thieves’ den or even defeating Smaug. How did one defend against a sickness of the mind? He should have asked Elrond while he’d had the chance but it was far too late for that now.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to the stream,” he mumbled to himself and ignored the curious look that Nori gave him over his shoulder.

Half of the company was still sleeping when they got back to the rooms they had been given, but most roused the moment they entered and were on their feet and pulling on their boots less than a minute later. Ori was awake and writing in a tattered book in the corner with Balin smoking next to him, but both the pipe and the book disappeared into the depths their packs the minute everyone else started to gather their gear. It took less than five minutes for all of them to be travel-ready and assembled in one of the small cavern rooms.

“Balin, you and Dwalin and Nori are with me. We’re going to find an old friend and get to the bottom of whatever’s going on. The rest of you - be on your guard. Once these dwarves discover that we aren’t here as friends they may decide to turn on us.” 

Nori glanced at Bilbo while the selected few tromped out, their swords at their sides, and then jerked his head for the burglar to follow after them. With a quick glance back at the others Bilbo trotted back to Nori’s side and stayed there. Dori and Bifur could easily look after the others – no dwarf that might have held back the company had been brought along. The princes could hold their own in a fight and even Ori seemed to have inherited his eldest brother’s unnatural strength. They could hold of a couple of thieves without Bilbo there to look after them for at least a little while. There was no reason for alarm yet – hopefully Karhon would be able to lay their fears to rest and then they could collect the ponies and be on their way without too much fuss.

“Oh, why do things never go as planned?”

Balin fell back a few steps to walk on his other side, his arms crossed behind his back and a kindly smile on his face despite the gravity of their situation. “I might be more worried if everything was going perfectly well. In my experience that’s when the worst trouble tends to come up. A little setback like this will be handled in short order, you’ll see.”

“Are you supposed to be the pessimist?” Bilbo asked in surprise.

The elderly dwarf chuckled and shook his head, making his beard bounce. “There’s little point in it right now. Would it change where we are?”

“Probably not.”

“And would Thorin be in a better state by my pointing out that we might be in a wee bit of trouble?”

“I think I see where this is going.”

Looks were shot at them from every dark corner and nook in the caverns they passed. Dice games were paused as the players watched the king storm by with his entourage. There was no way to mistake him for anything but one who commanded power as he was, with his coat billowing out as his sides. Thorin walked as if anyone who thought to get in his way would be cut down and then stepped over while they bled out their lifeblood on the ground. Bilbo tried to ignore the whispers but they came at him from every side until he was tempted to shove his fingers in his ears so that he wouldn’t have to listen to them. The gossip didn’t seem to bother any of the dwarves or perhaps they just weren’t listening for the hissed words. Every shadow seemed to hold a knife and glittering eyes to the hobbit and his hand fell to the pommel of his sword and rested there, ready to draw the little blade should the need arise.

“Out for blood, Thorin? Hope it ain’t mine. Beds weren’t clean enough to suit you?”

The bowl of a pipe flared from down one of the pitch black side passages and illuminated Karhon’s harsh face and iron eyes. His hundreds of braids swayed around his shoulders and down his back as he walked up to greet them, a pungent, sour-smelling smoke wreathing his face in gray tendrils. Little silver beads glittered at the end of each one and Bilbo shrunk back behind Balin a bit more, sweat breaking out all along the back of his neck. The craftsman dwarf had seemed amiable enough at first, but there was a hardness to him now that scared him even more than finding Dwalin on his front step had. There was power enough to even match Thorin’s wrath in him, as if Karhon was more comfortable in his rank and his own skin than the king had ever been and knew how to use it to its best advantage. His handless stump was tucked into a pocket in his broad brown coat, hidden from view.

Thorin stepped forward, his teeth bared like a feral dog. “We’ve found the explosives, Karhon. Tell me that you don’t plan to use them on my mountain.” It wasn’t a request.

One dark eyebrow rose as Karhon inhaled deeply and breathed out a plume of smoke right into Thorin’s face. “And if I do?”

“Then we’re going to have a disagreement.”

“Oh is that all? Didn’t think you were such a diplomat. That was always Frerin’s job, to keep you from rushin’ in where you had no hope of victory. Course he ain’t here to do that anymore, is he?”

Dwalin stepped forward with a snarl, his hands snapping to his axes but was stopped by Balin’s hand against his arm.

“Aye, Frerin fell defending his kin and we mourned for him in our own time, as did you if I remember correctly. We simply wish to understand why you seek to destroy our homeland. I know that you dreamt of reclaiming it one day, Karhon, but it seems that something has changed your mind.”

Karhon seemed to consider this for a minute and finally nodded in reluctant agreement. “I’ll bow to sense this time since our little king never had much of it.” A hint of a smile curved his lips beneath his black mustache. “Let’s go somewhere a bit more private, eh? Seems a bit silly to talk of plots and fire out in the hall.”

Once again Bilbo took up the rear as Karhon lead them further into the mountain tunnels, his eyes darting back and forth and over his shoulder. Dark figures emerged from the tunnels they passed, their knives glittering in the torchlight and Bilbo began to wish that they had risked the giants and the goblins after all. At least they attacked from the front rather than sliding up from behind with a smile as cold as ice.  

__________________________________

They were lead to a workroom of sorts. There were a couple of rickety chairs set against one wall, but the majority of the space was taken up by sturdy stone tables and picks and chisels of all sizes. Lumps of pure gold and silver lay waiting to be shaped on the corner of one of the tables and a small forge in the corner burned brilliantly yellow and made the little cave room seem as hot as fire. Dwalin tugged at the fur ruff around his neck the minute they stepped in. Nori skulked along one of the walls, his fingertips trailing lightly over the various tools as if he was imagining which could be easily scooped up and used as a weapon.

“I’ve kept up my little hobby, as you can see.” Karhon gestured at the rest of the room as he hooked one of the chairs with his boot and sank into it.

“Aye, ye always did like yer pretty things.” Dwalin didn’t sit but rather took up a post by the door with his axes still clutched in his hands, ready to strike down any who thought to intrude upon their meeting.

Karhon shrugged and kicked the chair back onto its back legs, massaging the stump of his right hand casually. Bilbo doubted he even realized he was doing it. “Gotta keep busy somehow when I’m not runnin’ things. I got no need to gamble or fight down here so I do what-else. Not quite as easy now as back in the day, but I stumble on.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about your baubles, Karhon. Tell me about the explosives.” Thorin hadn’t taken a seat either and he crossed his arms across his chest in a clearly defensive stance. Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes and stationed himself on the other side of the door, across from Dwalin. The guard gave him a sideways look but didn’t shoo him back to Balin’s side. A pile of rings and silver bracelets twinkled at him out of the corner of his eye but he ignored them. Karhon may have once been a master craftsman according to Thorin, but gems and gold had never been important to hobbits. A couple of coppers could buy a good dinner and a pint of ale down at the Green Dragon, but that was about as far as most of them cared to interact with coin. Everything else worked on a barter system. Farmer Deepdelver would slaughter a pig or two every Sunday and folk would trade fruits or vegetables or other services in return for the fresh meat. Bilbo was a gentlehobbit and a writer, so while he had the coin to pay for whatever struck his fancy, half the time it would be turned down in return for some nicely written party invitations or other such thing that required him to ply his quill more than his pocketbook.

Realizing that his mind had wander, Bilbo sniffed and jerked his attention back to the dwarves. The tension hadn’t abated at all, though that was hardly surprising. One of Nori’s blades made a _snick-snick-_ snick noise as he twirled it.

“Did you really think you were the only one to read the signs, Thorin?”

Thorin growled low in his throat but didn’t reply.

“We’ve seen the ravens heading east. My scouts report that there has been no smoke or fire from the gate in o’er sixty years. Who would keep a better eye on a fortune the likes of which lays in Erebor than thieves?” A wicked smiled curled his lips. “Did you really think that you would be able to reclaim it with your handful of fools? I know why you’ve turned your eyes east, Thorin, king of nothin’. Others might believe your story about seekin’ out Dain in the Iron Hills, but I remember how often you spoke of reclaimin’ your mountain. You’re following the ravens and in the end you’ll die a fool’s death for being unprepared.”

“And you are?” Snarled Thorin. “With your explosives? Do you think Smaug will just let you come in and lay them around his belly so you can blow him to the western shores?”

“Nay, Thorin.” replied Karhon, as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. “I plan to bring the entire mountain down on his head and crush him like the worm he is. I think it’s a better plan than whatever foolishness you’ve managed to concoct.”

“My foolishness won’t destroy our home!”

“Your home, Thorin!” Karhon was on his feet again and the chair clattered backwards. “Not mine. You made sure of that when you threw away my loyalty to your family as if it was made of brass.”

“I was trying to save your life, you fool!”

“By destroying my cause! By givin’ away my life’s work to those who hadn’t earned the right to lick your damn boots! No, it’s not my home. It can crumble to rubble for all I care and then we can dig the spoils right out from under Smaug’s rottin’ corpse. It’s just a matter of havin’ the right tools to do it with.” The dwarf leaned forward until his face was inches from Thorin’s and everyone in the room tensed. “I don’t hate you for what you did, Thorin. T’was the action of a lad who didn’t understand purpose yet. But you have to see that your quest is doomed. You cannot defeat Smaug with your company.”

Bilbo snorted and leveled a glare at Karhon that would have set his braids on fire if there had been any real power behind it. The honor of killing Smaug had fallen to Bard rather than any of the dwarves but he could hardly say that.

_But there was no sign of this lot or their promised dragon-killing explosion last time, so something must have happened to stop them without us getting involved._

Whatever it had been, it wasn’t helping them now. 

“I would rather have my company than all of the fireworks you’ve stashed in this entire mountain. They fight for their home and for honor, not just wealth.”

“Homes can be rebuilt,” counted Karhon. “Lives can’t. You would risk them all to dragon fire? I knew you as a young fool once, but it seems you haven’t outgrown it yet. Will you not stand by sense and go with me to the mountain? We could kill the dragon together and reclaim the gold and glory we lost all those years ago.”

Thorin took a step back, bristling with barely restrained fury. “I will not. You have sunk into madness, Karhon and I refuse to let you carry out your twisted plan when Erebor can still be reclaimed.”

Karhon seemed to deflate slightly, his beads clattering as a few of his braids fell over his shoulders. “I should have known you would not stand by me in this either. Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you’ve had a while to think it over. See it sense overcomes your passion for once. Ferran? Escort our guests down to the storage room and let ‘em stew for a bit.”

Bilbo had two second to think before the door swung open and he was trapped between it and the wall. From where he was pinned he heard the sounds of a shout and then a scuffle. Blades clanged and there was a thunderous bang as a table was overturned and the craft tools went spilling across the floor. He pushed frantically at the door to get out from behind it, but the table had been shoved up against it and he was stuck fast, the buttons of his vest catching on the handle and holding him in place. All he could do was listen as Dwalin roared in fury, but eventually that faded along with the rest of the noise as his friends were subdued and presumably dragged off.

Silence fell.

“Bilbo Baggins, you are a thoroughly useless burglar,” he whispered to himself as he finally managed to unhook his buttons and slip out from behind the door.

 As if the situation wasn’t bad enough already, the hobbit froze in place as a pair of hard gray eyes snapped to him. It seemed that Karhon hadn’t followed after his men on their way to shove Thorin and the rest into the storage room. Instead he had his one hand wrapped around the edge of the craft table as if he meant to put the room back to rights.

“Well. Seems like we looked o'er a little mouse.”

All Bilbo could do was squeak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys, life caught up to me for a bit and then I started drawing a bit more than usual. Rest assured that I'm already starting on the next chapter so you won't have to wait for quite as long for the climax to this little adventure! Stay tuned for chapter 21 - 'Fire in the Dark'.


	20. Just A Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

Ori was the first to notice that they were missing the smallest member of their group.

The cave they had been shoved into was cold and smelled very strongly of black powder. There were no torches to illuminate the inside so the moment Thorin and the others were shoved inside and the door was shut behind them they were plunged into complete blackness. Being dwarves most of them were used to small, dark places so it only took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dark. What they found wasn’t a very comforting sight.

The rest of the company had been captured while Thorin argued with Karhon and they had been disarmed and had their hands tied in front of them. Now they were all shoved together in a small room whose sides were stacked high with wooden barrels, from which the pungent smell was issuing from. Gloin rubbed his wrists once Nori had cut through the ties with one of the many blades he kept secreted away on his person and seemed about ready to pop with indignation.

“They came with a wee bit of breakfast and got us while we were occupied. Had blades at all of our throats and you don’t say ‘no’ to that. Should’a seen it comin’, but Oin was checkin’ for poison in th’ food. Didn’t think they’d go up against bigger fighters, not this sort.” He turned his head and spat. “Filthy bastards. No honor to share between the lot of ‘em.”

Luckily there hadn’t been much in the way of injuries. Bombur had a slice across his cheek where one of the thieves had sliced him while herding them into the storage room, but Oin was already tending to that and the round dwarf seemed more upset that he had been parted from his pack than at the little hurt.

Thorin prowled around like a caged animal, alternately banging at the door and bellowing fit to wake every goblin in the mountain. Most of his curses were directed at a certain jeweler-turned-smuggler, but that was hardly surprising. Nori, who had been sniffing and poking about in their prison, waited until the king had quieted somewhat before he approached him.

“There’s no way out but the door, and that’s solid enough to keep us in for now. Only lock seems to be on the handle outside and I can’t pick it through there.”

“And what of the barrels? I can smell as well as any of you – they contain powder.”

“Aye, they’re full of the stuff. Must be some of the firepower Karhon bragged of.”

“Can we use it to break free?”

Bofur went stiff as a board at that. “Ah – no. Can’t do it, yer majesty. Makin’ a small explosion is easy enough, but doin’ it in here it could spread too easy and then we’d all just be little bits not fit for bein’ sewn back together proper. Saw it happen once back home. Poor bugger was trying to blow a couple of rocks he didn’ feel like movin’ and the spark caught the barrel behind him too. Wasn’t enough left of him to send back to his missus. Lovely funeral though, come to think of it.”

Thorin spat a few choice words at that, but didn’t press the matter. Bofur, as a miner, would know better than most about the dangers of using the black powder and he didn’t relish the thought of being the first king to not have enough of a corpse left to bury in the mountain.

“Lemme try the door.” Nori ducked behind Thorin as the king resumed his pacing and rapped on the thick wood with his knuckles. “Hey Ferran? You out there? Come on mate, don’t go cold on me now. This lot smells terrible and you’ve shut me up with ‘em in this little tiny cell. What’d I do to deserve this? Is this about that thing with yer sister again, ‘cause I thought we settled that way back when.”

There was a chuckle and the sound of boots coming closer to the door. “No can do, Nori. Got my orders from the boss and I don’t fancy him usin’ one of his little torches on my tender bits.”

“That’s understandable, but I’m not askin’ you to let us go wandering all over the mountain. Just me, fer old time’s sake. Won’t cause a drop of trouble, on my mam’s grave.”

Silence. Then – “I want to Nori. You and I go way back, you know? Always thought your brother was a looker, even if he didn’t let us come by for a bite. Can’t do it though.”

“Ferran – “

“Can’t trust you any more. You know what they say about thieves who bed down with the righteous folk. Eventually one of ‘ems gonna talk and then there’ll be blood in the alleys. You’ve been beddin’ with the wrong sort and the Nori I knew wouldn’t ‘ave done that if his life depended on it. Thought better of you.”

This time it was Dwalin’s turn to stiffen, though it would have been hard to notice the subtle tightening of his muscles with as dark as it was. Clearly they had both been foolish to think that anywhere would be completely private.

“That was just a one-time thing, Ferran. Just scratchin’ and itch, you know – “

“Can’t do it. I’m sorry for that, maybe Karhon will come around eventually and spring you. But I ain’t riskin’ my neck for a turn-about.”

That seemed to be the end of the matter because Ferran’s footsteps moved off again and no answer came when Nori shouted after him.

Ori crept up behind Dori and tugged on his older brother’s sleeve.

“What is it?”

Ori glanced down at his boots and then back up, agitated. “Do you know where Bilbo is? I don’t think he’s here.  Or at least I can’t find him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dori snapped as he straightened his sleeve. “Of course he’s…” Dori turned in a full circle, looking for their rogue burglar. When there was no sign of him, he went over and began to check behind barrels.

“What are you looking for?” Balin asked quietly when Dori got close enough.

Dori’s face was set in grim lines. “Ori was looking for Bilbo. I don’t believe he’s here.”

“Last I saw of him…oh dear.”

“Now what?” Snarled Thorin as he stomped by, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side as if he was longing to have a sword in them.

“We may have encountered a slight problem,” Balin said quietly enough that no guard wgo might have been standing outside of the storage room could have heard him. The rest of the company could though and there were several groans as they all clearly wondered what else could go wrong.

“What, Balin? We are unarmed and trapped in a room that could very well blow us all to the halls of waiting. What is one more problem compared to that?”

“Mister Baggins seems to have gone missing.”

The entire room went silent. Someone swore under their breath in Khuzdul.

“He was there, in the room with us,” whispered Thorin. “I did not tell him to come, and he was left behind with that traitor.”  He turned to where he knew Dwalin was standing. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”

Even in the darkness Dwalin’s smile was frightening. “Aye, my king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bwahaha, mini teaser chapter! Sometimes I feel really evil...


	21. Fire in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Violence, Battle, Minor Character Death

“I-oh–oh dear,” Bilbo stammered, feeling like a blade was at his throat even though the dwarf hadn’t moved. He had no magic ring to vanish with and Gandalf wasn’t going to conveniently appear to rescue him because wizards never did anything on other people’s time. One of his hands tried to grab at his sword but his hand was shaking so badly that his grip on the hilt slipped and sting went clattering to the floor and gleamed between them, as useless as a dead cat now that there was no one to wield it.

He was going to die, gutted on the floor by some horrible jeweler’s pick, and the rest of the company probably wouldn’t notice he was gone until Gandalf finally showed up and got them all out of the mountain and somebody thought to go ‘where is that blasted burglar?’ He’d be cursed and forgotten and left to rot in some nasty little cave where the goblins would crawl in and pick at his bones and take all of his lovely vest buttons. He’d gotten one second chance to make things right but it seemed unlikely that he would be getting another one. Another life wasted and why? Because he’d been a fool and dropped his sword. No, he wouldn’t be saving anyone and he’d been a fool to think that he could even try. Hobbits were meant to be comfortable, quiet folk. They didn’t go on adventures or save kings.

But he had to try.

The hobbit lunged for his sword, driven on by cold fear and adrenaline. He wasn’t very quick or graceful about it and was very surprised to find his head still on his shoulders when he stood again, his hands still shaking but this time with his sword held properly between the, pointed at Karhon.

The dwarf hadn’t moved. If anything he seemed more amused than furious to see that one of his captives had been overlooked. With his single hand he righted the table and then began to scoop his tools back up onto it from where they had been scattered across the floor.

“I wouldn’t suggest runnin’.  I don’t care how quick those little legs o’ yours move, my men are on the alert now that we know you aren’t here to play nice. You’ll find yourself pulled away and gutted faster than I can catch up t’ spare you.”

Bilbo gulped and rethought his decision to start backing towards the door. He didn’t have any plan beyond ‘don’t die’ at the moment, so the longer he could put off that fate the happier he would be. Right now facing down Karhon seemed only slightly safer than risking his neck with the dozens of other cutthroats in the mountain, or ending up in one of the goblin-infested tunnels. He doubted he would be so easily ignored a second time, no matter what nook or cranny he found to tuck himself into.

“I’m not going to run,” Bilbo said, trying to infuse a confidence he didn’t feel into his voice. “I’m going to rescue my dwarves and then we’ll be on our way. No need to make this into a fight that neither of us wants.” At least his blade wasn’t shaking so much now that he knew Karhon wasn’t going to come over the table at him with one of the clamps on top of it. He’d been in fights before, but never against seasoned warriors unless sparring practice with his dwarves some eighty-odd years ago counted. They’d gone easy on him then and he had a sneaky feeling that Karhon wouldn’t give him nearly as many handicaps because of his stature and inexperience.

“An’ whoever said that I didn’t want a fight? It’d be nice to see a bit of a spark for once out of those old bastards. Any who can’t fight properly for what they believe in may as well lay down an’ die in a ditch t’ be picked at by the ravens. I don’t need a king or heroes who go off t’ get themselves killed in a fool’s errand.”

“It isn’t!” Bilbo protested, his feet glued to the cold dirt floor, preventing him from either backing towards the door or pressing his advantage and advancing. He was armed. The dwarf was not. But Karhon also had the ability to call in an unknown amount of backup and no doubt had the power to simply overturn the table again and trap Bilbo right under it like he’d been crushed behind the door. “I know they can do it. So maybe they don’t all believe in the same cause. In fact I’m fairly certain that half of them are only here because they were promised free ale. But they believe in each other and I’ve seen them fight for theirs brothers and their friends and I think that’s more important than the quest.”

“More important than reclaiming their lost homeland and treasure enough to make them all kings ten times over?”

“Where I come from we put more value on our kin than on what lines our pockets. They fight for what they believe in – their family and their cause, and if that isn’t enough to see Erebor reclaimed…” Bilbo trailed off. Dain on the throne. Thorin buried with the Arkenstone clasped between his hands. Dis weeping bitterly at the tombs of her children who had died too young fighting for a home they had never known. His eyes hardened and he felt strength surge back into his arms. The tip of his sword steadied and it seemed as though the terrified little hobbit had suddenly settled into himself and become something much more fierce. “If that isn’t enough then I’ll do it for them.”

There was a rumble from outside the craft room and the ground beneath their feet trembled and dust rained down from the ceiling, lining Bilbo’s hair with streaks of gray. He didn’t dare blink even though his eyes watered. Any show of weakness might have been enough of a reason for the dwarf across from him to attack.

For a moment the tension seemed to wane as Karhon looked away from him and towards the door, but he didn’t seem too alarmed by the sound of the explosion. “We’ve laid charges in some of the tunnels for when the goblins decide to get brave. Not unlike yourself, little hobbit, but hopefully I won’t be havin’ to put you down like one of those. I don’t fancy killin’ any of you lot, just changin’ your minds a bit.”

“Oh yes, because locking everyone up is the perfect way to do that,” Bilbo snapped, his ears pricked for the sound of another explosion.

He wasn’t disappointed as another charge went off and a second wave of dust came down and made him sneeze. Shouts echoed down the tunnels and he jumped as Karhon finally stepped away from the table and grabbed a curved sword with golden rings dangling from the guard that had been tucked away under one of the counters. It was big enough to cut Bilbo clean in two and the hobbit raised his own blade a bit higher. It suddenly felt woefully undersized.

“You willin’ to fight for your comrades?” Karhon growled as he stalked forwards. Bilbo backpedaled as quickly as he could without tripping over his own feet.

“Yes! But that doesn’t mean that has to be the first plan!”

“Karhon!” A strange dwarf ran into the room, nearly hitting Bilbo with the door again. He had a trickle of blood leaking out of a gash above his eyebrow and down into his tightly braided gray beard and mustache. “Somethin’s riled up the goblins. They’ve got past the tunnel bombs and they jus’ keep comin’. The boys‘v got ‘em held back for now but I dunno how long until they get pushed back. I ain’t seen the like since we first chased ‘em outta here.”

“Go rouse the others. Get everyone who isn’t fightin’ set on movin’ the goods out the front way and every dwarf under seventy gets out first, you know the’ drill.”

The bleeding dwarf gave a quick nod and ran back the way he had come, shouting at the top of his lungs for anyone sleeping to be up and about in between cries of ‘goblin raid’.

Karhon’s sword tip swung around faster than Bilbo could bring up his own to block, too distracted by the thought of goblins finding his dwarves while they were trapped and no doubt unarmed. It would be a slaughter. But his attention was dragged back to the present when the sword cut a little slice across his neck and a drop of blood rolled down and stained the top of his shirt.

“I’ll give you this one kindness, Halfling. If you can find your way to the chamber I’ve locked your company in and manage to free them, perhaps you deserve to continue on with your mad quest. If the goblins get to you first your little sword will not save you and if I catch you…you’ll be joinin’ them in imprisonment. Now get outta my way, I have goblins to put down before they put a torch to my powder.” With a single sweep of his arm Karhon roughly shoved Bilbo out of the way so that he nearly fell over and went dashing off towards the direction that screams were beginning to echo up from.

Bilbo steadied himself and stepped out into the tunnel. Several of the torches had been snatched up by passing smugglers and it left the underground passage dark and cold. The faint shrieks and clang of metal against metal that was coming from the left wasn’t at all comforting, so Bilbo instantly decided he liked the idea of going right instead. Besides, he was pretty sure that was the way he had heard his dwarves being dragged off, so that was as good a lead as any. Off he ran, his bare feet making soft slapping noises against the rock. Sting was still cold and lightless in his hands, showing him that no goblins had made it this far into Karhon’s little kingdom just yet. His biggest worry at the moment was either getting lost or finding himself on the receiving end of one of the smuggler’s knives. Each and every one of them was probably faster and had seen more fights than Bilbo had – they knew how to use the dark shadows to their advantage.

Luckily there was no gleam of a blade in the dark tunnels he passed.

During his summer hunting trips in the Shire Bilbo had learned to track deer through the quiet forests based on their tracks and where he knew the streams flowed the freshest. Rabbit warrens were easy enough to set snares at. But locating thirteen dwarves in a mountain where he didn’t dare risk simply shouting for them? That was a bit harder.

There were scuff marks on the walls but he couldn’t tell if they were from Dwalin’s knuckle dusters as he swung at one of the smugglers, or just a rough patch in the tunnel. Loose gravel rolled under his feet. Had Balin slipped on it as they dragged him along by his sleeves? And the shimmer of a dark, unidentifiable liquid that he nearly ended up stepping in… “Please be safe,” he whispered as he stepped over it and hurried along as fast as he dared. Some guardian he was. Not only had he nearly gotten himself gutted, but he had managed to lose the entire company while he was at it.

Of course, they no doubt thought that he had run off to try to save his own sorry hide.

_“We will not be seeing our burglar again. He is long gone.”_

 He wasn’t there to magically appear with the help of a golden ring this time. Gandalf wasn’t there to lead them all to safety. No, he was cold and alone now and his eyes began to water out of fear and frustration. He could almost believe that he could feel Karhon’s breath on the back of his neck and the shrieks of goblins growing ever closer. If he was caught they’d all be trapped, but at least they’d be together. If he was killed? There was no saying what would happen. Maybe the dwarves would be able to free themselves. No doubt Thorin would think that he had run all the way back home and left them to rot.

“I will not end up as a corpse in a forgotten corner; I’ve come too far for that!” Bilbo hissed, hurriedly wiping his eyes on his ragged sleeve. There was no time to feel scared or sorry for himself right now, not when he needed all of his wits and cunning about him. The Baggins half of him was shoved into a very small, dark corner of his mind where it could snivel in peace while he worked. He’d deal with it later.

If there was a later.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he was being a complete foolhardy adventurer. That would make him no better than the rest of the company. When he heard voices and heavy footsteps coming his way Bilbo quickly tucked himself into a side passage and pressed himself up against the rocky wall as tightly as he could, very much wishing that he’d worn his dove gray vest instead of his red one today. It would have blended in much better. Sadly the gray one was tucked away in his pack, which had no doubt been confiscated along with the rest of their things. Not only did he have to find the company, but he also needed to figure out where their packs were or they’d be stuck in the mountain with no food or supplies and that would be as bad as how they had ended up the first time around.

None of the dwarves who hurried by with axes and picks and several knives as long as his arm noticed the gleam of the crimson thread in the torchlight. They had bigger problems on their hands than one rogue hobbit and those problems smelled very strongly of unwashed goblin.

Off he set again, doing his best to put as much distance between himself and Karhon as possible. The only one who had ever scared him more was Thorin, with his eyes glazed with gold lust. Both of them had taken him away from the company, one by force and one by exile. This time he refused to stay gone.

Every door he passed he knocked on and when they were unlocked he peeked inside. Most were empty; others held chests or tatty bedrolls. All were empty. The tunnels bent and twisted in on themselves and Bilbo was lost more quickly than he would have thought possible. After an hour of searching like this and growing more and more turned around Bilbo felt his nerves beginning to stretch to the breaking point. The only noises to break the dead silence were the crackling of the torches and once in a while a far off scream and the sound of thundering of heavy boots.

Or at least so he thought until he heard a crunching noise from a tunnel to his left that arched upwards like a slide. Very quickly he scrambled up it on his hands and knees and carefully peeked over the top, ignoring the throbbing in his hands where he’d scratched them on the sharp rocks.

“Oi! Settle down you lot or th’ goblins’ll be on us thanks to your ruckus!”

A lone guard, a dwarf Bilbo didn’t recognize, stood in the hall up ahead. Two long knives hung at his belt and there was a line of several more wrapping around his broad chest. Bilbo’s eyes widened when the guard turned. In his hand was Bifur’s boar spear, which he had been using to jab at the heavy wooden door behind him.

“Finally,” he breathed, his shoulders sagging in relief. Now it was just a matter of getting past the guard and stealing the key to the room.

The dwarf didn’t seem impressed with his job as a guard, because he set to picking at his fingernails with one of his knives and sat down with his back against the tunnel wall, ignoring the bone-rattling thuds that occasionally shook the entire door frame. Either it had been going on for a while or he had enough confidence in the door that it wasn’t worth his attention. Bilbo crept up out of the tunnel mouth and kept his belly flat to the floor as he inched forward. He could avoid attracting the guard’s attention if he was very careful and quiet. Going up against someone who could wield knives was an exercise in futility. Once long ago had had tried to spar with Nori and he had been disarmed and laid out flat on his back before he could even think that it might have been a bad idea. The entire company had laughed at his dumbfounded expression and Nori had told him in no uncertain terms that hobbit legs were just a touch too short to make them properly quick. The only advantage he had was his light-footedness and his size and that people tended to underestimate him because of it. Hopefully that would be enough.

His palm was sweaty where it was wrapped around Sting and he skirted around the ring of torchlight as slowly as a mouse that had seen a lean and hungry alley cat.  His stomach was in tight knots and he had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering.

Sneak up behind him and then hit him in the head with the pommel of your sword to knock him out. It’ll be easy, he told himself. Then he remembered how thick dwarf skulls tended to be and paused. Maybe that wasn’t such a good plan after all. 

As he stood there, his sword half raised while he contemplated how best to go about getting rid of the guard without killing him, a terrible sound rang out. It was loud and seemed to fill every inch of the tunnel. Bilbo’s eyes slid shut in horror as his stomach finished telling all and sundry that he had missed breakfast.

So much for the element of surprise…

“Who’s there?” The dwarf was on his feet, Bifur’s spear clutched in one hand and a knife in the other as his eyes darted around and he backed up until he was standing in front of the door. “Show yerself!” His eyes searched the tunnel and he actually looked right over Bilbo once before catching sight of him a moment later when the torchlight caught on Sting’s edge and it flashed in the dark. “Ah, th’ runt. Lucky I caught ye or we’d have to look all over jus’ta toss ye in wiff this lot.”

“I’m not here to be locked up,” Bilbo said, his voice much higher than usual as he brandished his sword. “Just give me the key and we won’t have any trouble.”

The guard laughed. It was an ugly sound that made him sound like his lungs were full of phlegm and cave dust and he coughed wetly and spat afterward, making Bilbo cringe.

“Ain’t worth th’ skin on my back t’ let you get away with’at. Now come o’er here and I’ll toss ye right in. Elsewise I’ll jus’ have t’ gut ye instead. I don’ care one way or th’ other, been a while since I ‘ad a good tussle, though I doubt yer much good for – “

Bilbo screamed and fell backwards as the door next to the guard came crashing down with a tremendous crash and landed directly on top of the guard, crushing him into the floor. Dwalin stood in the opening, his face red and his hands bleeding around his knuckle dusters. He turned and looked over his shoulder.

“Now THAT’S how you get through a locked door. Beats pickin’ it any day o’ the week.”

“We would have been out of there an hour ago if it hadn’t been a padlock. I hate bein’ on the wrong side of those. Could have at least put us in a room with bars so I could reach through…”

The rest of the dwarves came flooding out and all of them made sure to walk right over the door their guard was trapped under, smashing him even further into the stone. None of them appeared to have seen Bilbo where he sat against the wall, still too stunned by their sudden entrance to stand up yet.

Thorin was the last one out of the cell and he looked as furious as a bear that had been awoken in the middle of December.  A quick gesture and Dwalin lifted the door off of the fallen dwarf and picked him up by the neck of his coat, hoisting him up high enough that his toes weren’t brushing the ground. The guard had two black eyes and was bleeding copiously from his nose.

“I’m going to ask you two questions,” the king told the dazed dwarf in a deadly quiet voice. “If I think that you are lying to me or if you cry for help, my associates here will begin to remove pieces of your anatomy and showing them to you. Are we clear?”

The dwarf nodded frantically, his eyes glazed with pain and fear.

“My first question – do you know where the hobbit is?”

The dwarf nodded again, his eyes darting sideways to where Bilbo had finally gotten to his feet and was brushing off the seat of his trousers.

“Good, you’re still useful to me. If any harm has come to him I’ll be inflicting the same injuries on you three times over,” Thorin said softly, “So I suggest you lead us to him quickly before I double that.”

“Well I scraped up my hands a bit and my nose feels a big squashed from when I was stuck behind the door, but I think I’d rather have that than have a door fall on me like this fellow.”

Gloin and Bofur nearly jumped right out of their boots since they were standing with their backs to him and the rest of the company turned around and all of them instantly started talking at the same time. The general feeling seemed to be that they were very happy to see him because his back was pat by several of them and Fili and Kili squeezed him so tight that he thought his eyes were going to pop out for a minute.

“Easiest rescue I’ve ever seen,” muttered Dwalin and he gave their prisoner a shake to keep him docile.

“Rescue?” Bilbo cried and untangled himself from where Oin was looking at his scratched palm and Dori was trying to get some of the rock dust out of his hair. “But I was coming to rescue you! I was just convincing the guard to give me his keys, wasn’t I?” He asked the miserable dwarf.

“Aye, ‘e was. ‘ad his little sword and e’erythin’.” Two of his teeth were missing now.

 “We didn’t need rescuing,” growled Thorin, who was standing stiffly with his arms crossed. At least his livid expression had eased somewhat. “I – we thought that you had been taken by Karhon and were on our way back to retrieve you.”

“Yes, well he – oh! I completely forgot! There’s a goblin raid going on, they broke through the bombs that they’d put in the tunnels. Karhon went to help, but if he finishes with the goblins he said he’s going to come after me and lock me up too. Oh dear…”

“We won’t let him, Bilbo, don’t worry!” Ori balled his mitten-covered hands into fists and managed to look about as threatening as Bofur’s hat.  

“Sadly we have no weapons to fight off an attack with, Ori. I don’t imagine that our fists will be much good against armed goblins or smugglers should they come across us.” Balin pointed out reasonably and Ori seemed to wilt.

Thorin shook himself and turned back to their captive. “Which brings me to my second question. Our gear?”

“N-next door o’er. All of it, bags an’ the lot. Karhon wouldn’t let us touch a lick o’ it.”

“So he still has a bit of honor left. Dwalin?”

“Aye?”

“Put him back where you found him.”

__________________________________

Not ten minutes later Bilbo found himself running along with his hand in Dori’s so that he wouldn’t ‘wander off and give us all a scare’ again, his little rucksack snugly on his back. They had considered going off to find the ponies again, but Nori was certain that they were being kept outside the mountain on the side they had entered through. Taking the time to go back and fetch them would waste valuable time and none of them could concentrate on keeping the beasts safe and fight goblins or smugglers at the same time. It was a bit of a pinch, but they finally decided to leave them behind and continue on foot. Bombur grumbled about this a bit as he shouldered his heavy cooking pot, but Bofur cheerfully reminded him that at least he didn’t have to leave everything behind.

“Better to go on with our bags than nothin’ at all!” He said optimistically as he tightened the straps on his own pack and hoisted up his mattock.

They had interrogated the dwarf guard a bit more before Dwalin shoved him back under the heavy door. All it had taken was Dori stepping forward to snap one of his fingers like a matchstick before he told them which way the tunnel to the east side of the Misty Mountains was and then they had left him to snivel into the floor again. Bilbo might have felt a bit sorrier for him if the fellow hadn’t threatened to gut him only a little while earlier.

Away they went, dodging down tunnels and around corners. Luckily Thorin had chosen to let Nori lead the way rather than do it himself or they might have never gotten anywhere except into deeper trouble. Not once did they run into any more of Karhon’s dwarves. Either they were all busy repelling the goblins or they had been tasked with moving supplies and gear out of the tunnels. Wherever they were, Bilbo was just happy not to have to get into a fight with any of them. It would have slowed them all even more than not knowing the exact lay of the land. Goblins they could handle. They tended to be rather stupid and not have a broad knowledge about fighting tactics. Some could shoot, most used clubs or spikes or rusty blades. All could be dealt with faster than Bombur could whip up a pot of rabbit stew.

But there were no goblins either. The tunnels loomed long and empty as they made their escape through them, slowly but surely making their way unmolested towards the other side of the mountain. The tunnel wouldn’t take them all the way to the other side, but it would take them most of the way. After that they could follow the river canyon the rest of the way out assuming that the hill bandits didn’t give them any trouble. Although with Bilbo’s luck lately that seemed highly unlikely.

Whatever shred of it he had left gave out when they had nearly escaped. Bilbo could already smell the fresh air when the goblins came screaming up behind them, howling and shouting and brandishing their claws and swords.

“More dwarves!” One of them shrieked and Bilbo found himself shoved behind Dori as the dozen or so goblins swarmed them. Before he could shout that he wasn’t completely helpless the fight was over and Thorin, Dwalin, Gloin, and Dori were splattered with goblin blood while the others made sure that there were no more down the tunnels next to them. A couple of shrieks sounded back as Bifur and Oin flushed out a couple more who had been lying in wait for them to pass and made short work of them.

That was when Bilbo was seized from behind and a curved sword was pressed against his throat for the second time that day.

“Karhon!” Thorin snarled, his own sword raised as he stalked forward as if he intended to strike down the jeweler when he stood. “Release my burglar and maybe I’ll leave a few pieces of you behind for the goblins to pick their teeth with.”

“I thought he might have made it when I found my storage room empty. Half expected to find him on the wrong end of a goblin blade like half of my men.” Bilbo flinched as something began to drip into his hair and ran down into his eyes. He couldn’t see Karhon, but the dwarf’s long braids that brushed the sides of his face felt sticky.

“Dead?” Dwalin asked, his hands tight on his hammer.

“Aye, and the goblins aren’t far behind me. There were too many of them to keep back and any who haven’t made it out the front by now are beyond carin’. I won’t be far behind them now.” The sword at Bilbo’s throat shook once and he shrank back and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the blood that was now drying on his face. There was too much of it for it to be splashes from slain goblins.

“Since I’ll be sending you to meet them if you don’t lower your blade!” Thorin snapped.

“Not you, my king. I’m a dead dwarf walkin’ even now. Took a blade in my side already and my eye ain’t workin’ any more. But I won’t see those bastards take everythin’ from me. I still think you’re a fool who’ll end badly, but you I thought I could change your mind. Guess I should’ve remembered how stubborn your da’ was too.” Finally the sword dropped by a few inches, though Bilbo didn’t dare move yet. “Would you fight for what you believe in, Thorin?”

“I would.”

“And what is it that you’re fightin’ for? Gold and glory?”

Thorin’s eyes dropped to Bilbo and the hobbit stared back, blue eyes meeting terrified brown. “The pride of my people. My kin. My friends.” Claws scrambled on stone back behind the company and several of them shifted nervously. The goblins wouldn’t take long to find them now and being trapped in the narrow tunnel was as good as a death sentence. If there was one thing that the goblins had on their side it was superior numbers. They didn’t care if ten of their number fell. The dead would be dragged away and replaced with twenty more.  

“Maybe we can talk outside,” Gloin growled, as he hefted his axes, glancing nervously back the way they had come.

“I won’t let them follow you,” said Karhon, and he pushed Bilbo forward with a large hand at the small of his back, but not before he pressed something small and hard into the hobbit’s left hand. Bilbo nearly dropped it as Ori caught him before he could smack his nose on the floor. “Go. Maybe stubbornness and a few good dwarves can reclaim our home after all. Go!”

They went. Balin and Dwalin both nodded to the wounded dwarf as they passed by and made for the tunnel to the outside. Karhon, bruised and bleeding too much to live for long now that Bilbo got a proper look at him, stopped Thorin with a hand on his arm as he tried to shuffle Bilbo ahead of him.  

“Don’t think too ill of me for tryin’ to do what I thought was best, aye? Might not have been the right way t’ go about it, but I would have given you back your crown, my king.”

Thorin just nodded shortly, but it seemed to be enough for Karhon because he sighed and dropped his head, seemingly deaf to the cries of the goblins as they found the blood trail their quarry had left behind.

“ _Dayamu Khuzan-ai menu,_ Thorin.” The braided dwarf seized one of the torches in the wall and charged forward, leaving the company to look after him.

“He can’t mean to take them all on by himself?” Asked Bofur, mystified.

It was Bifur who put the pieces together first. He pulled frantically at Bofur’s sleeve, bodily dragging him towards the exit, his eyes wide and frantic as he shouted in Khudzul. The other dwarves paled and Thorin physically snatched up Bilbo and carried him as they all ran as quickly as their legs could carry them.

“What is it?” He cried as he struggled not to drop Sting or the thing Karhon had pushed into his hand.

“The mountain is full of powder and that fool just ran off with a torch. What do you think it is?” The dwarf snapped as he ran a little faster.

They barely made it to the outside air when the mountain shuddered like some great beast had risen up under it and rolled over. The sky was heavy with gray clouds and the ground squashed and squelched beneath their feet as they ran but the rain did nothing to stop the wave of heat and white-hot fire that blasted from the tunnel exit like dragon breath. It turned the trees and plants closest to dust and the stone itself seemed to scream in agony as it cracked, chipped, and finally crumbled with a roar. The thieves’ den and its master were gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I burned a million calories while I wrote this or had really exhausting sex. Sadly I had neither so I'm just left feeling wrung out like a towel. Whew. It'll probably take me a bit to get the next chapter up since I'm going down to Florida to visit my dad for a bit, but I promise to work on it while I'm away. Don't worry, nobody got set on fire at the end of this chapter in case I didn't make that clear enough. Now I'm going to go take a bubble bath because damn it! I deserve one.


	22. Down Rivers and Under Ranges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

Thorin’s feet hurt.

Of course, he was certain that everyone else was currently suffering from the same affliction so he did his best to ignore the twinges that shot up from the soles of his feet into his ankles and then stabbed at his calves. He was used to walking for long periods of time, though he preferred riding when he could afford a pony or a ride in the back of a merchant’s cart. This chaotic sprinting hadn’t done him any favors and he was already feeling it. 

Their flight down into the river valley from the mouth of the cave had taken its toll on all of them. Rocks had churned beneath their feet as the tunnels collapsed and caused many of them to fall to their knees, only to be dragged back up again as the fire ate away at the land. It had chased them for nearly an hour until they had reached a point in the river that was shallow enough for them to escape to the opposite shore and finally away from the flames licking at their heels. Dwalin’s beard was a bit bushier now since he had brought up the back of the back and been closest to the searing flames as they fled from the destruction. Thorin watched as his oldest friend tried his best to keep the frizzy mess out of his face and then finally tied it down with a strip of leather to keep it out of his eyes.

None of them were exactly looking their best. Many of them were splattered with goblin blood and enough cave dust to turn their hair gray.

Since they had started running no one had spoken at all much beyond warning their companions of especially slick spots in the river bank or to make sure that no one was hurt. A couple of singed eyebrows and scraped hands seemed to be the worst of it, though a couple of them had gotten completely soaked through when Fili slipped on the opposite bank of the river and fell right back in and floated a few yards downstream before Kili and Ori splashed in after him and they all came out completely drenched and shivering.

Thorin hadn’t even had the heart to tell them off for it because they had all looked so thoroughly wretched.

Bilbo coughed miserably next to him and he spared half a glance for the hobbit as they picked their way along the edge of the river. His burglar’s hair was liberally streaked with gray dust and it had settled on his face as well and made him look twice as old and four times more tired than he usually did. And Karhon’s blood still gleamed wetly on his face, smudged where Bilbo had brushed at it with his coat sleeve.

 _At least now his face matches his eyes,_ Thorin thought as he stepped over an exposed root and waited to see if Bilbo could clamber over it without rolling right down into the river like a barrel. He’d met many a dwarf with haunted eyes, though most of those had gone gray with age and had fought in battles that were only remembered in books. They’d seen their friends slaughtered. Their families. They had known terror and hardship and it had changed them. Thorin knew the eyes of those who were tired of life because he saw them looking back at him every time he glanced into a mirror or still water. His were tainted by anger and bitterness while Bilbo’s held only a deep sorrow and weariness. There was no way to tell what had put it there, but Thorin couldn’t deny that a sickness had settled in his belly when their eyes had met across the curve of Karhon’s blade. Hobbits were gentle folk, everyone knew that even those who had never met one. Creatures of the land who lead quiet, comfortable lives. They weren’t the type to go out adventuring and end up on the wrong end of swords, or at least they hadn’t been until he had agreed to drag this one out of his home and out onto the road to watch him grow grim and gaunt.

 _He volunteered to go,_ he reminded himself, but it did little to settled the guilt that was twisting up his insides. Every one of his dwarves knew what they were here for – they had something to gain at the end of their journey should they succeed. All would be famous and wealthy beyond their wildest dreams, settled in Erebor with the bones of Smaug at their feet.

Bilbo?

So far the hobbit hadn’t truly joined in while the others dreamed about what they wanted when they had their share of the gold. Bombur planned to buy as much chocolate as he could get his hands on and make a cake as big as he was. Bofur wanted some new mining picks. Gloin planned on moving his family into the finest quarters Erebor has to offer short of the royal quarters. Kili had boasted that he would fill a bathtub with sapphires and bathe in it and nobody had told him ‘no’ because if they were successful he could do just that. Bilbo had just smiled and laughed along with the others, brushing off the question with some ridiculous answer like ‘cover all of Erebor in rose bushes’ or ‘line the entire East Road in gold bricks’ when it was posed to him. It was clear that the hobbit cared little for the gold or glory of their quest. So why, Thorin mused, had he come at all? 

The rain kept up, a miserable drizzle that quelled any conversation that might have helped to lighten the dismal mood. It wasn’t heavy enough to force them to seek shelter, but it was just wet enough to seep in everywhere and make the dust and blood on their faces tacky. Finally as the light began to fail even more Thorin called a halt to their slog. The river had split in front of them and a slim branch of it disappeared into a low cave in the side of the mountain while the rest rushed on eastward. It was the most defensible position they’d come across and everyone gratefully settled down under a copse of scraggly pine trees and shed their packs.

Bifur and Balin went off to scout out the cave mouth while the rest of them scrounged around for any bit of wood that wasn’t as wet as they were. The few pieces they found produced a thick, oily smoke when they tried to light them.

“Might as well put up a flag and shout that we’re camping here,” grumbled Oin as he stomped out the feeble flame and everyone nodded sadly, wishing that they were anywhere else but here, surrounded by bandits and goblins in an unfriendly a very wet valley.

“The cave goes back as far as we can see and smells of dark things,” reported Balin as Bifur helped him get settled on a stump. “There are a few blind fish swimmin’ around at the mouth of it though if anyone feels like tryin’ their luck at scooping them out. I don’t see much point to it if we have no fire to cook them over.”

In the end they made do with strips of dried venison laid over cram, and everyone was very grateful when Bilbo produced a handful of parchment-wrapped toffees from his own pack and shared them around.

“You don’t belong here,” Thorin said as he managed to unglue his back teeth where the sweet had stuck them together. Bilbo had finished passing out his sweets and retreated back to where he seemed to have stationed himself at Thorin’s side. The Halfling had barely strayed more than ten feet from him since Thorin had hauled him out of the cave, though he hadn’t spoken a single word of thanks or anything else. He’d half expected the hobbit to break down in hysterical tears or begin to talk unendingly, but neither had come about. The silence was almost worse.

Naturally the stricken look that he was given by the hobbit instantly made him forget everything he had planned on adding on to the rest of his statement to temper it and had the added effect of making him seem like an utter bastard.

“And where else should I be, Master Oakenshield?” Bilbo asked coldly, the first words he had spoken since that morning. They chilled him right to his bones and made him feel utterly chastised. It was only with great strength that he kept himself from ducking his head and looking at his boots.  

“I didn’t intend to word that so poorly,” he tried to explain, scooping up a handful of wet pine needles and systematically breaking them into little pieces so that he had something to do with his hands. At least the rest of the dwarves hadn’t heard him insult their burglar. Most of them had already unrolled their bedrolls for lack of anything else to do. Some were talking quietly among themselves and Nori and Bofur were playing dice for who would take first watch.

“I’m not sure I want you to try it again. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. In fact I would go so far as to say that I _have_ to be here. Don’t insult me by trying to tell me otherwise because I won’t be turning around in tears to head back home.” The hobbit’s voice was decided sour and he was fiddling with something in his coat pocket, refusing to as much as look up. Thorin almost regretted opening his mouth at all. Having Bilbo walk at his side for so long had been…comfortable.

“I only meant that your kind aren’t usually in danger of having their throats cut or trapped under mountains. You belong…”

“In our gardens? Making bread? Doing comfortable things?”

“Yes exactly,” Thorin agreed in relief, but that was apparently the wrong thing to say because Bilbo’s eyes suddenly snapped up to his and they seemed much less weary and snapped with little copper sparks or irritation.

“No. I belong here. At your side, watching over you. And you had better get used to it because short of getting killed by goblins or something equally as horrible I won’t be going anywhere. Now please stop talking or I might have to throw something at you.”

Thorin’s jaw dropped. “How – what – you!” He spluttered, the pine needles falling from his hands as he gaped at the hobbit next to him.

“Yes, me. You aren’t my king after all, so I’m allowed to call you an idiot when you deserve it. So do me a favor and never imply that I shouldn’t be here again. I don’t care about being wet or cold or hungry. I’d rather be all of those things at once than back in my warm hole while you – all of you – were out here. That isn’t the way things are going to be.”

“You’re nearly as opinionated as a dwarf,” Thorin grumbled, feeling disgruntled and almost like he had fallen off his pony. His ears felt very hot despite the cold drizzle and he suddenly realized that Bilbo wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his threat to throw something at him. His burglar had a spine of mithril hidden under his ample tummy and brightly-colored vests and that was something he had to admire.

“I like to think that I’m no more so than your average hobbit,” Bilbo said, seeming a bit mollified now. At least he wasn’t frowning any more.

“If all hobbits are as strong-willed as you, I should have brought a hundred of them and not bothered with asking Dain for aid. You would have all chased Smaug right out of the mountain by being cross with him. He’d think himself well rid of the place.”

“You’d have to pry us all out of our front doors first! I like to pride myself in being slightly more open-minded and adventurous than my neighbors, especially in regards to dwarves and dragons. Oh, I forgot.” Bilbo reached over and held out his hand. Something gleamed in it in the last of the low light and he tipped it into Thorin’s cupped palms.

The dwarf’s heart stopped for a moment when his hands closed around the familiar shape of the warm metal. It was too dark to make out the color, but he knew it as if it was a piece of him. A thick golden band that branch apart like vines to twine around an emerald as big as the pad of his thumb. For years he had worn it on a golden chain around his neck, only to remove it when –

“Karhon put it in my hand before he pushed me away. I don’t know what to do with it though, so he probably wanted me to give it to you.”

Thorin’s throat closed up as he traced the edges of the ring with a finger. “It’s mine,” he said roughly. “Or rather it is mine to safe keep....I never believed I would see it again.”

Underneath one of the other trees Bofur won the dice game and claimed first watch while Nori grumbled as he crawled into his own bedroll. Ori was curled up with his back pressed against Dori’s and Bombur was already out cold, snoring loudly enough that it sounded like far off thunder.

“An heirloom?” Bilbo tucked his feet underneath him and buttoned up the front of his coat to keep warm and Thorin was shedding his overcoat before he even knew what he was doing and offering it. He’d done the same for his nephews more than once over the course of their journey, but this was the first time he had even thought about doing so for anyone else. It was just gratitude, he told himself. Bilbo had proved his worth more than once in the past few weeks and he was more delicate than any of the other members of their company. Not as hearty or quick in a fight for all that he was quick and had been able to keep them out of trouble more than once.

And he was most certainly _not_ staring when Bilbo slowly accepted his greatcoat and draped it around his slight shoulders, his face buried in the warg fur that lined the collar.

“Of sorts.” How best to explain what the Consort’s ring meant to him? Thorin turned it over and over in his hands as if reacquainting himself with its weight. “You said that you have loved before. What was it like?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and he seemed to shrink in on himself for a moment, but answered before Thorin could take back his question.

“It’s…It’s like everything good in the world has suddenly come true at the same time and yet it hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt before. It rips you up on the inside every day because every word you say matters. Every time your eyes meet it makes you ache in places you didn’t know you had before. It’s beautiful and terrible because, well, because it makes you do things that you never thought you would ever do before. I’ve never been as brave or as weak as I was when I was with him.”

Thorin played with the ring while he listened, not sure why the words should strike him so deeply. It wasn’t as though he’d ever loved someone in the way that Bilbo described, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to if it was as painful as the hobbit made it out to be. He’d seen men laid low by the deaths of their loved ones before, their lovers and wives, and it was not a fate that he would wish on even his worst enemy. The only finger the ring would fit on of his was his pinkie and it was tight enough that it stopped at his first knuckle. His mother had always had small hands for a dwarf.

“I’ve never felt such a thing. I love my sister and my nephews. I would do anything for them.”

“Like retake kingdoms?” Bilbo asked and Thorin could hear the smile in his voice.

“Aye, just so. This ring was made for my mother by a master craftsman who died for what he believed in. He put everything he was into his work and it was said that his heart beat in every piece, especially in those worn by Fris, Consort to Thráin, Prince of Erebor.” It was dark enough that he couldn’t even see his hands or the ring on his little finger any more, but he could see the emerald in his mind’s eye. “I don’t know if he loved my mother. Perhaps he did, since he reacted so strongly when I was forced to give up his last connection to her. She died before Smaug came – killed when a section of the ruby mines caved in while she was walking there. I don’t think either Karhon or Thráin were the same after that. My father couldn’t bear to look upon anything that reminded him of her, so he gave me her ring for when I took a consort of my own.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked so much to someone who was a practical stranger, but he felt he had to explain now. Somehow he had to show Bilbo why he’d been held with a blade at his neck for the sake of a ring and a purpose.  

"She was my friend...but I did not love her as one cherishes their One. Yet she was meant to be my queen and I would have given this ring to her. “

Bilbo made a little choking noise next to him but it turned into a cough. “What was her name?”

“Belren. Her father was a noble in our court and we had been promised to one another for several years. We were never anything more than friends though. She was in love with Freran and I did not begrudge her for it. He was always more charming than he had a right to be. But we got on well enough. She loved to cook and I reaped the reward of that for some time.”

“Ah, so you’ve always been a glutton for good cooking.”

“Aye, though your blackberry concoction was better than hers were, if it settles you at all.”

“I’m very flattered. Practically swooning.”

 Thorin snorted and felt a smile work its way across his face. Bilbo’s dry humor had a way of sneaking up on him and he couldn’t help but enjoy it. “As you should be. You shouldn’t worry about the competition though. Belren was killed when Smaug took the mountain. Many of the women spent their time in and around our treasury, since they were as precious to us as any amount of gold and jewels and often made the finest craftsmen. So when Smaug came…”

“He went to the treasury first,” Bilbo said softly, his horror evident.

“Yes. There were few survivors from that part of the city. The rest were either crushed or incinerated. My betrothed was among them, but I did not feel her loss as keenly as I should have. I enjoyed her company, yes, but I did not love her.” He looked over at where he knew Bilbo must have been sitting, though the rain clouds obscured any moonlight that might have helped him see better.  “Could you love another, knowing that your first is gone?”

The pause was as thick as the weather. While he waited Thorin lifted up the ring until it brushed against the corner of his mouth where Bilbo’s lips had touched it just last night. Did hobbits give their affections as freely as that, or were they something to be cherished? Now that they were safe again he had more time to think about it. Kisses were sacred, private things to dwarves, shared only between lovers and wedded couples. Did hobbits exchange them as easily as saying ‘good morning’? And why did that thought make him feel so put out? Thorin gave himself a shake to try to regain his senses but he wasn’t sure how much good it did. He had awoken the next morning to find that his nephews had wrapped themselves around the burglar like creeper vines. It had both pleased him to see them opening up to someone who wasn’t family and irritated him at the same time for wondering what it would be like to take their place.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo finally answered and there was a shifting noise as he resettled himself. “Last time it didn’t end well for anyone, and what’s to say it would the second time? I’m just not sure if I would willingly put myself through that again. Besides,” he added softly, “it would take a lot to ever measure up to him.”

_Could a king measure up? Surely I could do ten times better than this fool who couldn’t see what was standing so resolutely next to him._

It only took a moment for him to decide. Reaching out, Thorin felt around in the dark until he found Bilbo’s shoulder under the fur of his great coat and followed it down until he was grasping the hobbit’s hand. It was cold in his own and he held it for a moment, trying to impart a bit of warmth into it before he pressed the gold and emerald ring back into it.

“It’s much safer with you, Halfling.”

“But Thorin – “

“I have enough to worry about between my company and reclaiming my homeland without having to worry about a ring falling out of my pocket as well. That can be your burden to bear for me.”

“Ah yes, because I really needed another one...” Bilbo muttered. “Fine, I’ll look after your ring but I’m giving it back the minute we get to Erebor. I don’t need gems cluttering up my coat space. I reserve that for camellia and carnations, thank you very much. Now if you don’t mind I’ll be turning in. I’m much too old to be up at all hours. It isn’t good for my health.”

Thorin blinked, a bit startled, but managed to retain some of his grace. “Of course. We all need some rest after that. Good night, Bilbo.”

“Good night, Thorin.”

And he most certainly did _not_ think about how nice it was to hear his name said so gently as he finally pried off his wet boots and shook the river rocks out of them.

Not even a little.  

_________________________________

It took less than an hour for the remainder of the company to settle into their bedrolls and all of them were quickly asleep.

All of them except Bilbo. He lay awake, his head pillowed on one of his arms while he played with the Consort’s ring in the other. Thorin’s heavy coat lay over him, keeping out the worst of the evening chill. It smelled quite unpleasantly of goblin blood and damp, dirty things, but underneath all of that there was the scent of iron and musk that he knew was Thorin. Such a little thing, but he clung to it. It was a living memory to him, a reminder of other rainy days and other conversations that had never happened and probably never would. Could he love again? The dwarf he had cleaved to was gone in a way, and he could never be exactly the same again because history had changed.

“Stop being such a worry wart,” he mumbled to himself, tucking the ring into his vest pocket and buttoning it shut so there was no chance it would fall out. There would be no sleep for him tonight – right now he had a job to do that couldn’t be put off by little things like sore feet or being tired.

Tonight he was going to get his magic ring back.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of this was written while lounging by the pool and the other half while listening to Eddie Money's 'Take Me Home Tonight' on repeat. Please don't throw anything at me.


	23. Fireflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

It wasn’t hard to sneak out of camp. All of the dwarves were heavy sleepers and even more since they had just spent the last full day fighting and running for their lives. That sort of exercise lent itself to very tired dwarves and not a single one stirred as Bilbo slowly picked his way over and around their slumbering forms. There was no fire to see his way by so he was forced to inch along, guided by the sound of snores and the feel of blankets against his searching fingertips. Once he nearly trod right on Dori because he was a quiet sleeper and Ori had taken his blanket, but managed to backpedal enough that he simply ended up sitting down rather abruptly rather than awakening the eldest Ri. Bilbo doubted Dori would have taken well to being walked upon and gave him a wide berth so that he wouldn’t end up with every bone in his body broken twice over because of Dori’s bad habit of destroying anything that surprised him while he was sleeping.

Thankfully that was the worst of what it took to escape from camp. With a little rustling noise Bilbo got up from his hands and knees and carefully dusted off the hems of his trousers so that there were no pine needles still stuck to them that could poke him through the cloth. He may have been sneaking away to do some rather suspicious things but that didn’t mean he had to do it with dirt and leaves and other such dirty things stuck all over him and making him look like a wild hobbit kit.

A little light flared in front of his face and Bilbo clapped a hand to his mouth so that he wouldn’t yelp and alert all of the dwarves.

‘It’s just a firefly, you knob head,” he whispered softly and reached out in the dark to where he’d last seen the bug. Something small and ticklish alighted on his thumb and crawled onto his sleeve, illuminating a small spot of the tattered cotton.

_‘Bilbo! It’s time to come in for dinner!’_

_‘But Mum – Sandy says she got a fish down at the creek as big as her whole head and I want to show her that there’s naught but fingerlings in that silly – “_

_‘Oh look at the state of you. You’ve got leaves in your collar and fireflies in your hair. Now come here and sit on my lap and I’ll tell you a story about my adventures while I get them out.’_

Belladonna had never scolded him for missing his supper because he’d gone off on some imaginary adventure. The parents of the other hobbit kits had despaired over him, saying that nothing good could come of growing up so wild and that he was a terrible influence on his friends because he would often drag them along as well. More than once he had come home sopping wet because he’d fallen in the brook looking for fairies and one very memorable spring he had been driven all the way up a tree by a wild boar who hadn’t been pleased to find him wandering about it the forest.

It was bittersweet to look back on it all, now that Belladonna and Bungo were long dead and home was so far behind him. It left the memory of the taste of sweet summer apples in his mouth.

“We had fireflies there too,” the old hobbit whispered to the insect as it flew away, lighting up once more before it was lost in the tree branches with its fellows. “I suppose some things never change, no matter where or when you wander.”

“Bilbo? Why aren’t ye sleepin’?”

There was a wave of pungent, cheap-smelling tobacco smoke and the flare of low embers in a pipe bowl not two feet from where Bilbo was standing, talking to lightning bugs. If the hobbit had ever had one to compare this to, he would have easily said that he had a heart attack at that moment. It seized in his chest and he broke out in a cold sweat. They only upside to the wave of startled terror was that his throat closed up too and kept him from screaming so loud that they would have heard him in Valinor.

‘Probably just some silly hobbit who thought he could be sneaky enough to get through a camp full of dwarves without being detected,’ the elves there would say and then delicately laugh and go back to their tea.

“B-Bofur! You nearly killed me of fright!” He hissed in the direction that he’d seen the little light from the dwarf’s pipe. “Don’t you know better than to go sneaking up on hobbits in the dark?”

“I wasn’t sneakin’, lad. I’ve been sittin’ here the whole time havin’ a nice smoke. Not much else to do since I’m still on watch. Well done not troddin’ all over Dori. I thought for sure ye were goin’ t’ step right on him.”

“You are not being at all helpful!”

“Happened a bit quick for me to do anythin’ about it.”

“How did you even see me anyway? I can’t see my hand in front of my face, but I’m pretty sure it’s wet because of this miserable drizzle.” This was taking up valuable time that he could have been using to get into the river cave and follow it to Gollum’s cave, but leaving Bofur to watch him go and report back to the others that he was off after a magic ring that he shouldn’t have known was there was out of the question.

“I’m a miner, lad. Leastwise I was before I got hired on as an adventurer for this lot. I see better in the dark than I do in daylight - not as many colors to get in th’ way, ye know?”

“Ah, not really, no.”

“Well tha’s the way of it for me at least. Now where’re ye goin’? S’not safe for you t’ be wanderin’ about in the dark. Anythin’ could happen to ye and none of us’d be happy about that.”

_Where do you think you’re goin’?_

_Back to Rivendell._

_No, no. You can't turn back now. You're part of the company. You're one of us._

“I was just taking a walk since I couldn’t sleep. It’s not as though I was going to run away and leave you out in this horrible place.” Bilbo looked down at where he was fairly certain his feet were. No, he wouldn’t be entertaining any thoughts of leaving this time. Even if he’d suddenly had a drastic change of heart (which he hadn’t) there would have been no way to get back to Rivendell without going straight through Goblin Town and that wasn’t a journey Bilbo had any desire to undertake.

 _They need you and you need that ring_ , he told himself firmly. He’d just have to get around Bofur somehow.

“Course ye wouldn’t! Ye’re our hobbit now. The young princes have taken a shinin’ to ye and everybody thinks ye’re a good sort. They looked half sick when we realized you’d got left behind in the caves. We were ready to rip down the walls t’ get ye back again.”

Something warm and ticklish settled in the pit of Bilbo’s belly and he rubbed it though his vest, fingers curling against the delicate needlework patterns. “That’s – That’s very nice to hear. Thank you Bofur.”

“Ah don’t ye worry yer head o’er it. Ye helped get us out of a tight spot or two and it’s the least we could do t’ return the favor. Now where was your walk goin’ to take ye? I could go with if you don’t mind a bit of company since my watch is up and I’m not quite set on bed just yet.”

“That’s really not necessary, I was just going to - “

“Thorin said ye weren’t to go off on yer own again. I’d be in all sorts of trouble if I let ye wander away.” There was a brief flare as Bofur tapped out the bowl of his pipe against the bottom of his shoe and then ground out the ashes. The pipe smoke smell was quickly washed away by the drizzle and replaced with moss and other such wet things. A frog croaked down by the riverbed. 

Guilt set in, no doubt just as Bofur had intended it to. “Did he really say that or are you just making it up so you can go with me?”

“Would I lie to ye?” There was so much honey in Bofur’s voice that Bilbo was surprised a swarm of bees didn’t magically appear.

“I don’t think so,” he drawled, “but stretching the truth isn’t the same as lying.”

Bofur snorted in the dark and there was a rustling noise as he shook his head. “Aye, I tell Bombur that all th’ time and he still says I’m just makin’ things sound prettier than they are. I don’t see much harm in it if nobody gets hurt. My mum used to say I had th’ gift of gab on account of me talkin’ to everyone who walked in our door and – “

“That’s very nice Bofur, but I really do have to be going on that walk now. I don’t need you to go with me; I should only be gone for a few minutes. An hour.”

_Longer if Gollum brains me with a rock._

 “I won’t hear of it. Jus’ let me get Oin up to take over and we’ll be off to wherever it is ye got yer heart set on. Always thought company was better than walkin’ about alone, ‘specially in places like this. Just ain’t safe, ‘specially for gentlefolk like ye.” Before Bilbo could stop him there was the sound of wet footsteps and a couple of grunts in the dark as Bofur picked his way across the dwarves to where Oin was sleeping and roused the old medic. It was obvious that Bofur had better night vision since it sounded like he had managed the whole trip without stepping on anyone. The hobbit scrubbed at his face with his hands and then winced when it pulled at the cuts on his palms.

It wasn’t a bad idea to take Bofur with him. Having a dwarf who could see in the dark and was good in a fight by his side could be very handy if worst came to worst. So much of it hinged on his ability to keep a secret though and Bofur was the chattiest dwarf in the company and then some. Like he’d said – he had the gift of gab. If he saw Bilbo fetching a ring that he shouldn’t have known was there would he tell someone? Would he finally be found out as the dwarves added up all of the little times he’d slipped up or put his foot in his mouth?

“There we go, Oin’s all set up with his pipe and we can be off for a bit of a jaunt before bed. Now where was it ye wanted to go explorin’?”

“The river cave,” Bilbo mumbled and jumped when a mitten-clad hand took his and began to lead him away from camp. It was rare to see Bofur without his hand coverings. Even when they bathed he often kept them on under the guise of ‘washin’ the muck outta them’. Bilbo had only seen the dwarf’s hands once, long after the Durins had been buried under the mountain and he had returned to the Shire. Bofur, Bifur, and Dori had all made the trip to come and help him move to Rivendell on the eve of his hundred and eleventh birthday and a string had come out of one of Bofur’s mittens while they’d been packing. Bilbo had offered to mend them for him.

It hadn’t been a pretty sight.

Bofur’s hands were what Bilbo might have considered ruined if the dwarf couldn’t still use them to hold his mattock and do his own braids. His knuckles looked like they’d been broken so many times by tools or rocks that they were permanently swollen. Dirt was ingrained under every nail and nicks and scars made his skin into a twisted mess. Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and let Bofur pull him along to the river cave. It was a heavy burden to know secrets no one had ever told him and in that moment he felt very very glad to have his friend leading him into the darkness.  

“I don’t much like river caves,” Bofur was saying; apparently glad to keep talking even if Bilbo was only listening with half an ear. The hobbit stumbled over an exposed root but Bofur used his grip on his hand to keep him on his feet. “Too hard to lose things in the water and then it gets into your socks although I guess ye wouldn’t have to worry much about tha’, would you? On account of not wearing any socks.”

Bilbo just made a noncommittal noise and clutched Bofur’s hand even tighter. He didn’t like not being able to see and knew it would have taken him much longer to find his way without Bofur’s help. He could hear the river ahead of them but couldn’t tell how close they were until freezing cold water closed around the tips of his toes and sent a great wrenching shiver all the way up his body.

“We’re at the mouth of the cave,” said Bofur softly. There was no need for such a quiet voice, but Bilbo could feel the chill breeze that crept from the mouth of the cavern as well as the dwarf and it seemed to carry the scent of bad things. Of rot and death and the stench of things with slime and scales. “It doesn’t seem like a place any good man or beast’d go happily. Can we can go back to camp now?”

“No,” came the whispered reply as Bilbo starred blindly into what he assumed must have been the mouth of the cave. “I have to go in.”

“No you don’t! That’s just foolishness to think that any good can come from wanderin’ about in there. We’d be best off just goin’ right back to our bedrolls and forgettin’ all about this wretched place. Surely there’s some other cave ye’d rather go have a look at?” Bofur’s grip tightened on his hand until it was almost painful.

Bilbo shook his head, his honey curls falling into his eyes. There was a tugging beneath his breastbone that felt as though someone had tied a hook there and was slowly drawing him forward. He took a short step forward, deeper into the water.

“Bofur…”

“Aye?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on how important it was. If it’s anythin’ at all to do with this place I imagine ye got to have a good reasonin’ behind it.”

“I do. The best reason you could ever imagine and I can’t tell you what it is. I just need you to trust me. There’s something I need to get in there and if I don’t…” He trailed off and swallowed hard, not wanting to contemplate what would happen if he left the ring in Gollum’s possession.

Bofur was silent for a minute, as if he was turning a very heavy thought over and over in his head and looking at it from every angle to check for flaws. “Will it help the quest? This thing we’re goin’ after?”

Helping to stab spiders in Mirkwood. To escape from imprisonment at the hands of Thranduil. To sneak past dragons in Erebor. “I don’t think that we could possibly succeed without it.”

“Well then. I don’t see any reason to tell the others about this. Far as I’m concerned we’re just out for a bit of fresh air and anything that ye come across is yer business. I’m just along for the company after all. And to make sure ye don’t tip into the river since it’s a bit on the cold side.”

“Bofur?”

“Aye?”

“You’re the best friend a hobbit could ask for.”

“Oh now you’re goin’ to go and make me blush, get on with ye.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started work at my new job and my dad has been visiting which is why I've been a bit slow on my writing. Once things settle down I should be able to do a bit more of it, especially once my online classes are over. Why did I think 3D animation was a good idea? Anyway, somewhat short chapter but I hope you enjoy it anyway. The next one will be full of ADVENTURE!


	24. The Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mild Violence

Just once Bilbo would have liked to know how it felt for everything to go the way it was supposed to. For ten minutes he wanted things to be alright, where he could sit down for a cup of tea and know that he didn’t have to worry or fret about a single thing in the entire world. Hobbits were simple folk by nature and yet somehow he’d managed to be the center of one big ball of trouble that he was certain was driving him to an early grave just from the sheer stress of everything. At the rate things were going he’d be buried before his next birthday.

His hands curled helplessly into fists, fingernails digging into his palms like teeth. There had been times before when he had felt helpless – in most fights he was all but useless. When Kili had been trapped under the tree by the rampaging trolls had been the same.

But never before had Bilbo felt as sick and powerless as he did now, with the weight of the ring in his vest pocket and Bofur’s anxious eyes fixed on his. The worst part was that he knew that the dwarf wasn’t scared for himself, even though he was the one with blood running into his eyes and a rock as sharp as a blade poised to slice his neck open. No, he was scared for the hobbit who had dragged him into this mess in the first place and that made bile rise in Bilbo’s throat. Once again he had managed to lead his friends into a danger of his own making and couldn’t do a thing to make it better.

It had all started out so well though, with the exception of the dark and the oozy smell. Bofur had kept up a steady stream on inane chatter which Bilbo had only needed to make the occasional ‘mm’ noise in reply to as he concentrated on not slipping on moss-covered stones and slipping into the river. The miner kept a firm grip on his hand so that the one time he did nearly take a tumble Bofur had simply lifted him right off of his feet and set him back on firmer ground. The relief that came with not being alone in such a horrible place had been enormous. Any reservations he might have had earlier were quickly washed away by the feeling of being _safe._ The last time he’d ventured into this part of the mountain he had taken a fall down a ravine, ripped up his hands terribly, and nearly been scared right out of his wits. Having Bofur up ahead of him, with his mattock in one hand and the other wrapped securely around Bilbo’s own was a feeling the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“And so I can’t just go up to him and say ‘you fancy a bit of a walk about with me’ because he’d probably turn his nose right up at the state of my clothes and then I’d be in all sorts of trouble. Problem is I’ve known the whole clan since I was just a lad and was getting’ into all sorts of scrapes and I don’t think he’s forgotten ‘bout the time I lost it in his best tea pot. That was eighty-odd years back, but Dori’s got a memory like a trap.”

“Dori?”

“Aye, who’d you think I was talkin’ about this whole time? And have you seen ‘is hair? How does he keep it lookin’ so nice when we’re so busy runnin’ about and fightin’ every second of the day? Bombur keep’s mine up else it’d just be one big knot, but not Dori. He’s just so…polished. I saw a moonstone once in the market back at Ered Luin and he’s like that. Just so smooth and pretty.”

Bilbo blinked and scrunched his eyebrows together, trying to remember if Bofur had been this tied up over Dori the first time around. Maybe he’d just been too wrapped up in his pain and home sickness to notice.

“Bofur, you know that he could kill you by glaring at you too hard, right?”

“Oh aye, part of the charm in my mind. I’m not a fragile sort so I’m not much worried about it. I jus’ don’t know how to go about talkin’ to him.”

What did he know about Dori? He was a tinker, but Ori had also told him that Dori owned a tea shop back in Ered Luin and wanted to –

“You know he wants to open a restaurant if we reclaim Erebor. You could always talk to him about that, he’d probably be happy to tell you about it. Everyone likes to talk about their dreams after all.” Or at least he hoped that Dori did since he was a bit more closed-mouthed than Ori. Nori could talk almost as well as Bofur, and yet he never seemed to let anything slip and could always turn the conversation away from topics he wasn’t keen on. Dori seemed content to sit in silence and keep an eye on his younger brothers, so whether he’d actually want to talk about his future venture was a gamble.

“Does he really? Aye, I think I could go on about that for a while. Good idea, Bilbo.”

And on they walked. Eventually the cave began to grow marginally less dark, but it was hard to say whether bits of moonlight were coming in through holes in the side of the mountain or the torches from goblin town were simply reaching them all the way down in the river caves. All Bilbo knew was that he was beginning to be able to see the outline of his feet and avoid the bigger stones without having to rely on Bofur to keep him from walking straight into them, and that was better than nothing at all. For nearly an hour they had gone on like this, and eventually even Bofur seemed to run out of things to say as the weight of the mountain pressed down on them. There were times when they had to venture into the water to avoid the extremely low ceiling and one very horrible moment when they actually had to hold their breaths and swim under a low-hanging ledge. Bilbo nearly balked at that point, but Bofur promised that it would only be a few seconds and ended up towing the hobbit along with him until they reached air again. Both of them were shivering and sopping wet by the end of it and Bilbo was beginning to wonder if he was perhaps just best off leaving the ring exactly where it was and moving on without it.

Naturally it had been then that he had found the damn thing. The tunnel had opened up into a familiar cavern. There hadn’t been any need to silence his friend because Bofur had picked up on the need for silence and was content to take a step back and creep along silently behind the burglar, his mattock at the ready should any danger arise. If the dwarf wondered why Bilbo seemed to know exactly where he was going, he said nothing. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he had simply chalked it up to ‘good hobbit sense’, which was exactly how Bilbo was going to describe it if anyone asked where he had gotten off to and how he had found his way in and out.

“I’m looking for something,” he whispered to Bofur as quietly as he could. There was no telling if the creature Gollum was about, and if he was Bilbo had no desire to let him know that they had come in looking for his ‘precious’. “It will be small, a little golden ring. Don’t touch it if you find it though, I don’t think it would be very safe for dwarves.” That it was gold was bad enough, but combined with the dark magic that it was filled with the ring might prove to be nearly irresistible to his companions. It was far better off where it belonged – in his pocket.

“As you say, lad. I’ll keep my eyes open for your little bauble.”

 _What if Gollum still has it?_ Bilbo wondered as his eyes swept the darkness, trying to pick up a glint of gold in the gloom. _What if we have to find him and take it back by force?_ It wouldn’t be hard to overpower the creature, but keeping him from following after them once they had the ring would be nigh on impossible and they couldn’t kill him without destroying the very fabric of the future. Everything hinged on fetching the ring and leaving Gollum alive to play his part later on, and that felt very much like walking on a high wire in a traveling circus. One wrong move and Bilbo would fall and take the whole show with him. No more second chances. He had to get it right the first time.

And then he stepped on something cold and round.

For a moment all he could do was stand there, eye blank and mouth slack.

“No,” he murmured. It couldn’t be that easy. _Nothing_ was ever that easy, especially when it concerned him. Bilbo Baggins didn’t just go adventuring; he got into every sort of trouble imaginable first. Deadly situations were a daily occurrence. He didn’t walk into a mountain, find exactly what he was looking for right away, and walk out again without something going horribly wrong. His life simply didn’t work that way.

“Bilbo?” Bofur came up behind him and clasped his shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s too easy.” Bilbo pulled his foot back and looked down at the ring that was gleaming wetly right where he’d been standing. As if he was watching himself in a dream, he slowly kneeled and picked up the thing. It was cold, like it had been lying forgotten for a while with no flesh to warm it. Or had it always been cold? It had been so long since he had last seen it that he couldn’t remember, though he would always know exactly how it felt to put it on. Like a little bit of his life was being sucked away and replaced with ice and somehow he had never cared at all. It had been a game to him, turning invisible. It made him powerful and special and everything he had never been before. Now that he held it again it all came rushing back and seemed to eat at him like leeches. He wanted to put it on right away and know the joy of its sinister presence. Hear the whispers in his ears. But at the same time he also wanted to drop it back again and run until he forgot about it entirely. Sadly he could do neither.

Instead he tucked it into his vest pocket where it knocked against Thorin’s ring. For some reason this soothed him a little bit, knowing that there was something that he treasured more than the ring of power. The Consort’s Ring had no magic in it other than the joy that had been put into its crafting. It didn’t make him invisible and it didn’t comfort him with whispered words every time he put it on. It was simply a piece of jewelry that he had been trusted with and that made it infinitely more precious.

“Well. That didn’t take much more than a minute or two now, did it?” Bofur scratched at his hair under his hat, nonplussed.

“I suppose not. Can we go back now?” Bilbo slipped his pinkie finger through the loop of the Consort’s Ring in his pocket so that the gem was pressed into his palm. It was warm.

“Oh yeah, I’m all for that. Let’s get out of this nasty place; it smells too much like goblin for me.”

“Me too,” Bilbo agreed and he was more than happy to follow after the miner as they made their way back down the edge of the underground river.

Of course then everything had gone horribly wrong.

Bofur crumpled up ahead of him, body hitting the floor with a hard cracking noise as a rock was smashed into his head. His mattock went clattering away into the dark, useless.

“Bofur!” Bilbo screamed as he rushed forward, no longer caring if anyone heard him, but there was a flash of movement and suddenly a sickly thin, pale creature was crouched over the body of his friend, a rock as sharp as a razor pressed against his exposed neck.

“No closer precioussss, no closer! What is it? What does it wants?” Giant pale eyes blinked owlishly at the hobbit and Bilbo fumbled with his sword and drew it, pointing it at Gollum. Not that it would do him any good, of course. The monster would have Bofur spilling his lifeblood out into the wet rocks before he could get a proper blow in. He was helpless.

“My name is B-Bilbo Baggins of the Shire,” he stuttered, feeling a great sense of déjà vu.   

“Bagginses? What is a Bagginses?” Gollum cocked his head to the side, but the rock didn’t move an inch much to Bilbo’s dismay. Bofur twitched once and his eyes opened up, though they were dazed and unfocused.

_Praise Aulë for the thick skulls of dwarves._

“Bilbo, run! Get away,” the dwarf said hoarsely, not daring to move. Gollum made a hissing noise at him and pressed the rock down harder, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Stupid dwarf. It will be quiet and then praps we will eats it even though it doesn’t taste very nice. Like dirt, dwarfs are, but better than goblinses.” Gollum seemed to know that he held the advantage even though Bilbo was the one with the sword, because his gap-toothed smile appeared and made both the dwarf and the hobbit cringe.

“But dwarves aren’t nearly as tasty as hobbits!” Bilbo cried as quickly as he could. As far as distractions went it wasn’t the best, but it was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

“Bilbo, no!”

“Hobbitses? We haven’t had a hobbit before.” Gollum rocked back onto his heels. “Is it tasty?” It cooed. “Is it juicy?”

“Yes, very. We’re the most delicious creatures in the world so you’d just be ruining your dinner if you ate that nasty dwarf before you ate me. He probably tastes like coal.”

Bofur made an indignant noise that was ignored by everyone.

Gollum made a choking noise deep in his throat and took a couple of hop-shuffle steps closer to Bilbo, thankfully leaving Bofur where he lay. The dwarf was in no condition to help though, his head was still bleeding profusely and his mattock was nowhere to be found. “So we can eats the hobbitses? We don’t want the dwarf any more, too many bones.”

Sting’s point didn’t waver. “Yes, you can eat me. But only,” he added even as Gollum made to lunge forward, the rock clutched in his hand, “if you beat me at a game.”

“A game? We likes games.” It seemed to promise of play was more appealing than food, especially the sort of games that ended with such a promised treat.

“I know you do. We’re going to play a game of riddles, just the two of us. No need to drag that dwarf or anyone else into it, that wouldn’t be any fun at all.”

Gollum nodded frantically and watched as Bilbo sheathed his sword in a show of false good faith. “We does! We likes riddles. And if we win we gets to eat the hobbitses.”

“And if I win you have to let us go again.”

“Yes yes yes,” Gollum said quickly as he dropped his rock and hopped up onto a boulder so that he could keep an eye on both intruders. “Baggins first! Give us a riddle and then we’ll eats it whole.”

And so the game began.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is short, but people told me that wanted a short one before I had to run to work rather than waiting for a longer one. More adventure and fewer concussions in the next one!


	25. A Game of Riddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

Gollum didn’t always have the ring. In fact more and more often these days he would leave it on his little island home in the middle of the river-fed lake. There were a few other things that he stored there, a couple of shiny rocks and bones that he had decided were well-formed. Sometimes he would steal trophies off of the goblins that he ate, claws and teeth and bit of scrap cloth and metal. For a little while he had tried to keep their eyes, but even floating them in one of the stagnant pools hadn’t been enough to keep them from rotting and he’d done away with that particular collection by eating them.

The ring had, in fact, tired of Gollum some time ago. It had tried to seek a new master before, goblins who came wandering by but they had never seen it and other creatures that happened upon the caves. It had eaten at Gollum’s mind and spirit to the point where there was little of any use left and thus it had chosen to move on. An object as full of evil power as it was had a sort of awareness about it, and when it sensed that another was drawing near it had once again abandoned its current owner. Now it rested snuggly inside Bilbo’s pocket, waiting for the moment the hobbit would slip it on and it could begin to poison him with dark words and darker thoughts until he was nothing more than a shell.

All it had to do was wait.

As for Gollum, he hadn’t missed his birthday present yet. Once he had worn it in a little pocket he had sewn into his loincloth, but it fell out so often now that he only carried it about with him when he was hunting for goblins or other nasty creatures that it helped to be invisible when he was going after. It spent most of its time in a hole under a stone on his island and once in a while he would come back when he couldn’t bear to be parted from it any longer and he would whisper and croon to it in his high, childish voice, sometimes imagining that it was talking back to him because it had been so long since he had last spoken to anyone with any sort of sense. Goblins weren’t exactly the best conversationalists.

Tonight Gollum had been out hunting goblins, but he had caught a small, weak one that had wandered too far from the torchlight and smashed its head in with a rock until it was hard to tell if it had even had a face to begin with. It had been a scrawny little thing, more bone than meat, but he had cracked those open too and sucked out the marrow. Now that he was presented with a dwarf and a round thing that called itself a ‘hobbit’ he found that he wasn’t quite as full as he had originally thought himself to be. They would make a wonderful dessert and probably keep him satisfied for quite a while. All he had to do was win this little word game (which he practiced with himself at least once every moon cycle) and he’d have a tasty little treat to gorge himself on.

Meanwhile Bilbo was sucking hard on his bottom lip, trying not to rush over to Bofur to make sure that he wasn’t about to bleed out. Gollum would probably snatch up another one of his rocks and decide to finish them off right then and there if he didn’t observe the rules of the game, and those rules didn’t include stalling for time by checking on dwarves.

Back when he had been in his eighties and shortly after he had adopted Frodo Bilbo had written a small book of poetry and riddles to keep the boy entertained. In the front had been a short note that read ‘to be used should one ever find oneself in a life or death situation where all hinges on a good riddle or two’. No one had ever understood it and most had chalked it up to Bilbo’s continuing eccentricities. After all, no hobbit that had gone adventuring could ever be considered truly in their right mind. The little book had joined the others he had penned on his bookshelf and was only dragged down when Frodo or one of his friends needed something to page through when it was too wet or too cold out to go hunting frogs or stealing tomatoes. In it Bilbo had written down any riddle he could possibly remember ever having heard and made up a few himself. They had been interspersed with poems about all sorts of things and snippets of dwarven songs that he could remember from late nights around campfires. Half of those had been too explicit to put in a children’s book though, so he had toned them down quite a bit to preserve his nephew’s innocence.

That had been a long time ago and he had forgotten half or the things he had written. In desperation he tried to bring forth Frodo’s childish voice, remembering when the boy had used to sit in his lap in front of the fire and read out loud.

_‘Uncle, why are you so sad?’_

_‘Sad? Nonsense. Why should I be sad? We just had a lovely dinner and there’s blueberry crumble waiting for us on the counter once we finish here.’_

_‘But you’re crying on my hair again, Uncle.’_

Bilbo took a deep shuddering breath and shoved his hands deeply into his coat pockets so that they would stop shaking. He was an old hand at this. He would trounce Gollum and get Bofur out and back to the others before anyone noticed they were missing, he just had to.

“Reaching stiffly for the sky,  
I bare my fingers when it's cold  
In warmth I wear an emerald glove  
And in between I dress in gold”

Sadly Gollum didn’t have to think too hard over that one. He had never heard anything like it before and it had been a good many years since he had last ventured outside of his cave to see the seasons changing, but there were some things that not even twisted creatures like himself forgot. The smell of clean and air and the ever changing colors of –

“Trees!” He crowed, lifting his skinny fists up and shaking them in victory. “It is treeses, my precious! Too easy. Too easy for us, yes. Now it is our turn.”

It had been just like this.

Maybe it had always and would always be like this.

Somehow he’d known, in some deep, dark little corner of himself, that he would always end up back here. In this cave, facing down this creature with fear in his heart and a ring in his pocket. It was who he was and what he was meant to do. Bilbo Baggins told riddles and stole Objects of Great Power. The ring of Sauron. A golden cup out from under the nose of a fire-breathing dragon. It was simply the way things were and now it seemed that it was one of those unchangeable things that would always happen. Even if he had turned around and traveled west instead of east he would have somehow ended up right back here again, through some twist of fate. He needed to find the ring because that was how fate intended for things to happen.

But maybe this time he could be so much more than what he’d been before.

They played on.

Most of Gollum’s riddles were familiar to him, and for that he was eternally grateful. Half of them he had gotten last time only by sheer luck alone, such as when the fish had leapt out of the water and landed straight on his feet and that had turned out to be the answer in the end. Because of this Bilbo tried to make sure that most of his own riddles focused on the bright things in life. Things that grew or smelled sweet or flew. They were a sharp contrast but apparently Gollum remembered enough of his life before the ring ate his life that he was able to get most of them with relative ease. There were a few moments when Bilbo’s heart leapt because his opponent was having a particularly hard time with one of his puzzles, only to sink in disappointment when it was finally guessed and Gollum would gloat and praise his own cleverness and wonder aloud to himself how Bilbo’s legs might taste. It was more than a little disconcerting how he would lick his lips and how his enormous eyes would gleam in the dark while he hopped and crawled over the boulders like a spider.

The only upside of the entire situation was that while Gollum crept about Bilbo was also able to maneuver himself around until he was standing next to Bofur, his hand never straying far from where Sting hung at his waist just in case he had cause to draw it. The dwarf had picked himself up enough to lean back against one of the wet boulders and was tentatively touching at the sizeable lump on his head, his hat cradled in his lap. Blood stained the soft sheepskin lining and made it a shade darker in the dim cave. At least he’d had the sense so far not to try to interrupt. Instead he sat quietly and when Bilbo groped backwards, unwilling to take his eyes off of Gollum for even an instant less he lose track of him in the dark, Bofur’s hand wrapped around his own and the slightly damp material of his mitten was more comforting than his little sword.

The stalemate lasted for what felt like an eternity, though in reality probably wasn’t more than a quarter hour at the most. As it wore on Gollum became more and more convinced that the goblin he had eaten up earlier hadn’t been a proper meal at all and what he really, desperately wanted was the hobbit. In fact he was nearly starving! It felt like he hadn’t eaten in ages and the thought of something sweet and juicy that wasn’t fish or bat was simply too tasty to resist. Even if the hobbit won their game it would be easy to hit him with a rock as quickly as anything and then he’d have had his game and his dinner at the same time. The dwarf he could drag into the river and drown so that it wouldn’t bother him anymore.

“One more riddle, precious. Just one. Then we’ll eats it.”

“Or let us go if I win,” Bilbo reminded the creature and it hissed in displeasure, an expression of sheer fury and distaste covering its features before it was wiped away and replaced with a mask of good humor.

“Of course precious, of course we’ll let it go if it wins!” Gollum had crawled up onto the highest boulder, in the best position to leap down upon its quarry once the game had come to an end.  

“Tha’ thing isn’t goin’ t’ let us go anywhere, Bilbo.” Bofur whispered behind him and squeezed his hand in an unnecessary warning.

“I know. I’ll figure out something. Do you think you can run if we have to?”

“I’ll manage, don’t worry ‘bout me. Just keep yer wits about ye.”

“What are they talking about, precious? What are they whispering about, do we think? _Nothing, finish it!_ Yes yes yes, we’ll give it our riddle, precious.” Gollum settled low on his rock, his long, thin fingers digging into the wet nooks and crannies where bugs and other small slimy creatures slithered in to hide.

The hair stood up on the back of Bilbo’s neck and he hunched his shoulders to try to keep back the chill that had crept into his insides and settled there like a chip of ice.   

“Man loves it more than life,  
“Fears more than death or mortal strife  
The poor has it, the rich require,  
What happy men desire,  
The miser spends and spendthrift saves  
And all carry to their graves.”

He hadn’t noticed it until now, but a sort of confidence had been holding him up. It hadn’t been anything proud or conceited, but rather a quiet sort of knowledge that he knew what was coming and could field any of the riddles that Gollum threw at him simply because he’d heard them before. After all, how many riddles could a creature who lived in the dark with no company know?

More than just the ones he’d heard before, apparently. He’d expected the riddle with the answer ‘time’, but it hadn’t come. Instead he’d been presented with this twisting tangle of words and his hands broke out in a cold sweat. If he couldn’t answer it he had two options – the first was to fight for his life and hope that he could stab Gollum before he had his brains bashed out with a rock. The second was to put on the ring and try to take out the creature that way but reveal what it was to Bofur and risk him telling the others. Traveling into a cave in the middle of the night was suspicious. Going in for something that he shouldn’t have known was there was even more so. But going in after a specific ring that he knew would turn him invisible and that he knew would aid them in overcoming Smaug? That was downright unbelievable.

“G-give me a moment,” he stuttered, pulling his hand free of Bofur’s so that he could twist his fingers together as he thought. Half of his brain, the steady and sensible Baggins side, was puzzling over the riddle. Happy men desire? More happiness? Something for others? But the spendthrift wouldn’t give anything to anyone else, so that couldn’t be right. Meanwhile the other half, the emotional and flighty Took side, was panicking over what would happen if the company found out about his secret. Would they hate him? Turn him away because he hadn’t been able to properly keep them out of danger? Or would they keep him and demand to know everything that he had seen but could never tell them for fear of changing too much? What would Thorin do, knowing that he was leading his nephews to their deaths? He hadn’t been there to see their mother mourn at their graves since he had lain cold and still in his own.

And would he hate Bilbo for staying silent all this time?

“Is it stuck, precious? It thinks and thinks and says nothing, so maybe we shall have it after all!”

“He’s figuring it out, give ‘im a minute!” Snapped Bofur as he jammed his hat back on his head, shooting a dark look across the cave at where Gollum had begun to pick at a fish skeleton that lay on the rock next to him. “You nasty bugger, leave off!”

Bilbo jumped and looked back at where the dwarf was frowning so hard it looked like his face might stick that way. “I don’t think I’ve heard you lose your temper like that, Bofur.”

“It’s nothin’. I jus’ don’t like seein’ smaller gentlefolk get picked at. Riles me right – “

“That’s it!”

This time everybody jumped. Bilbo whirled on his heel, his wet coat flaring out behind him and pointed triumphantly up at where Gollum was staring down at them, the fish bones forgotten. “The answer! It’s nothing. The poor have nothing, the rich require nothing, and I know that you take nothing with you to the grave! Ha!” He felt so triumphant that he stomped his foot and sent a couple of rocks clattering down into the river with a splash.

Gollum wasn’t nearly as pleased. He howled and screeched and threw a couple of rocks, though none of them seemed to be directly aimed at them. It was the sort of tantrum that a hobbit kit might throw when he was denied dessert or a sweet that they had been looking forward to, which, Bilbo thought, was exactly what Gollum had missed out on.   

“Not fair precious, not fair! It had help from the nasty dwarf and that’s cheating! Cheating! We must have one more and if we guesses it we win the hobbit flesh. Just one more guess!”

The word ‘flesh’ had Bilbo shuddering, but he stood firm. “Alright, we’ll do it your way. One more and then we’ll be on our way and have no more trouble from you. I’m cold and wet and tired and have better things to be doing than mucking about in here with you.”

“Aye, a cuppa coffee would perk me right up,” mumbled Bofur from behind him and Bilbo heard him climb to his feet, though the shuffling noises and soft groan he made proved it wasn’t as casually done as Bofur might have liked it to be. Thick skull or not Bilbo was still worried about his friend – even Dwalin wouldn’t have bounced back from a braining like that right away. 

“Yes! Just give it to us, we’re starving! Skin and fish bones and – “

“If you want me to give you the riddle then you have to stop talking!” Bilbo snapped, not at all impressed. Now that he’d seen Gollum’s fit of hysterics he had realized exactly what he was dealing with – a child. It may have once been something else, something civilized that walked in the sun, but now it was a monster with the mind of a child twisted by dark things. And he was a hobbit, and old, old hobbit who had dealt with more children than he could count. Over the course of his life Bilbo’s cousins and second cousins and third cousins had gone on to marry and breed like, well, hobbits. He had bounced dozens of babies on his knee and gotten toothless smiles for it. He’d read to them on rainy days, with Frodo on one side and three Bradybucks or Tooks and a Tugg or Proudfoot or two thrown in for variety on the other. And he’d given them solid smacks when he’d caught them getting into trouble and because known as ‘stern Uncle Bilbo’ to more than a few because of the glares that he could deal out as easily as smiles. It was just a matter of knowing how to control them, and the same could be said for Gollum.

“You’ll have your riddle and then when you lose we’ll be going. If you go back on your end of the bargain I’ll have to deal with you and you won’t like it one bit. Now be quiet.”

Bilbo breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“If you break me  
I do not stop working.  
If you touch me  
I may be snared.  
If you lose me  
Nothing will matter.”

With that he stepped back until he was standing next to Bofur again, both of them watching while the creature on the rock muttered and hissed to himself, trying to figure out the answer lest his prey slip through his fingers.

“Tha’ one should stump ‘im for a bit. Where’d you learn all those riddles, Bilbo? I know a song or three m’self but I was never much good with those puzzly sorts of things.”

 “I wrote a book about them a long time ago. Seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do at the time and you’d be surprised how many riddles hobbits know once you start picking their brains for them. The Old Took knew about two hundred of them. The only problem was he couldn’t remember half of the answers either.”

“Ha! Oh that’s grand, that is. Sounds like a fine place, I wish we could ‘ave stayed a bit longer. “

“It’s the best place, it truly is. The people are good, so is the food and drink, and it always feels like home. I would say that the only thing it doesn’t have is a bit of excitement to make your heart race once in a while. No adventures or battles, and I expect most of the folk there would like it to stay that way.”

Gollum let out a hissing wail and clawed at his scalp in frustration but they both ignored him.

“Not you?”

“No, I find I quite like having unexpected guests, even if there are more than a few of them and they track mud into my entry.”

“And break a few of yer dishes.”

“And break a few of my – wait, which dishes?”

Bofur managed a soft laugh that was only a shadow of his usual good cheer.  “You’ve got an old soul, lad. Probably born scowling at your poor ma’am and complainin’ about the mess of it all.”

“I’ll have you know that I earned every bit of my old soul the hard way and I don’t mean by tormenting my mother.”

It was a very odd sort of conversation to be having at the moment but Bilbo felt a little bit lighter for it, as if he had less to worry about even though things were still looking grim. The dice had been cast and there was nothing to do but wait while Gollum tried to figure out the answer to the last riddle of their game. If he got it they would have to fight. If he didn’t they’d probably still have to, but at least they both knew what they were up against.

“It- It’s, yes precious! It is, it has to be! _But how does he know?_ Doesn’t matter. It’s our birthday present! Nothing matters, nothing! Cannot break it and it snares us, yes it does precious!“

“So you say that answer is your birthday preci – present? Good lord, now he’s got me saying it.”

“Not a healthy habit, that,” Bofur said with a slow nod so that he wouldn’t get lightheaded.

“Thank you Bofur, I never would have guessed. Is that your final answer?” He called up to the monster on the boulder and Gollum nodded frantically, his mouth open just enough that two or three of his jagged teeth were visible. “Then you’re wrong! The right answer was ‘a heart’, which means that _you_ ,” Bilbo drew his sword and jabbed it up at Gollum, “have to let us be on our way. Go back to your fish bones and other creepy crawly things, we have a schedule to keep and I detest being late.”

Gollum’s wail mixed with Bofur’s whoop of elation and both echoed through the cave like thunder. Bilbo hoped it didn’t alert any goblins because he’d had quite enough of those since yesterday to last him for another lifetime.

“It isn’t fair precious, it isn’t fair! We didn’t – we can’t – we don’t want toooo – “

“Bofur, do you see your mattock?” Bilbo asked, backing up slowly with his sword still pointed at where Gollum was screeching fit to wake the dead and rolling around atop his rock.

“Aye, it’s a bit to the left. I’ll grab it then?”

“That might be a good idea, because we’re going now.”

“No!” Screamed Gollum, scrambling back to his hands and knees. “They can’t leave! We wants the hobbitses!”

“Well you lost the game so I’m afraid you can’t have me. Good luck with the next hobbit that wanders through though. Good night!” There was a clatter as Bofur picked up his mattock and then he was back, grasping Bilbo’s hand so that they could start their way back up the river and out of the horrible cave, the ring in their possession.

Gollum snarled at them, more animal than anything else and his hands went to a little pocket in his loincloth.

‘No doubt going for his birthday present’ Bilbo thought grimly as he took another step backwards. Well that present was already safely tucked away in his vest pocket and Gollum would find the answer to his riddle. Nothing.

It seemed that was exactly the case because Gollum’s eyes flew open wide and a look of abject horror came over his face. “Precious? Precious?! NO! Gone! The precious is gone!” Skinny fingers shoved themselves into holes in the rock, digging, searching desperately for something that wasn’t there. “Where is it? Where is it?!”

“What’re you lookin’ for?”

“Bofur, no! Let’s just go!” Bilbo squeezed his hand hard and tried to convey his urgency. Now wasn’t the time for Bofur to employ his gift of gab.

“Mustn’t ask us! None of the nasty dwarf’s business!”

“Now tha’s jus’ rude. I was jus’ goin’ ta say that if tha’ present yer lookin’ for is a small bit o’ somethin’ shiny then I saw it back down tha’ way, a ways down.” Bofur gave his brow a tap. “Dwarf eyes, good at spottin’ things in the dark.”

Without waiting around to bid them goodbye Gollum was off like a shot, dashing into the dark with a lingering cry of “Precious!”

Whether or not Bofur had actually seen something or was simply making a good opening for them to escape Bilbo didn’t ask. He was too busy being hauled along so fast that he nearly tripped over his feet. They ran, weapons in their hands and Bilbo was quite certain that if he didn’t manage to keep up properly he would fall and impale himself right on his own sword and that would be an ironic end to his adventure.

Bilbo Baggins. Got the ring of power and then ended up stabbing himself right through the belly. Idiot.

They didn’t even slow until they reached the point where the river came up to the roof of the tunnel and they had to swim under it again. This time Bilbo was just as fast as Bofur and actually surfaced first, spitting and spluttering in his haste to get out of the cold water and away from Gollum, who had no doubt discovered that he had been deceived by now. More than anything he wanted to get back to their camp and curl up under his blanket, maybe between Fili and Kili for warmth, and sleep away the last few hours until dawn in peace.

“That was horrible and I want to go to bed,” Bilbo muttered with his teeth chattering as he trotted along. Being in the dark for so long had made his eyes used enough to it that he could make out the biggest rocks and step over them, though the small loose ones still made him stumble.

“After a good stiff drink. Jus’ tell Dori he can carry me the rest of the way to the mountain since I’ll be dead to th’ world ‘til then.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know when we get there. Bofur?”

“Aye?”

“Thanks for coming with me. I don’t know how far I would have made it without you.”

“I’m sure ye would’ve been fine. Ye knew all the riddles after all. Might have thought you’d done it all before if it weren’t for tha’ last one. Maybe hobbits are jus’ good at these sorts o’ things, I would’ve lost on the first – “

“Bofur, stop!”

Bilbo seized the dwarf by his sleeve and dragged him back into the shadows of the tunnel wall. They had nearly reached the mouth of the tunnel, enough so that moonlight had nearly washed over their toes. The clouds had cleared away while they were dueling with Gollum and now the little valley was awash in silver light. And Bilbo had seen movement passing right in front of them as more than a dozen goblins started into the water, crossing it to reach the other side. They were talking loudly and gesturing with their short blades and knives. Some of them were laughing and making crude gestures at each other, but that was hardly surprising. Bilbo and Bofur watched them pass with wide eyes, hardly daring to move. Against five or six goblins they could have handled themselves, but against this many it would have been a slaughter. These were the big sort of goblins, the warriors, the quickest and cleverest that the Misty Mountains had to offer. They stayed hidden.

“Oh yeah, his kingship wants us out here trompin around in the dark. Don’t say no to the king or you’ll end up sat on!”

One of the other goblins shuddered. “Not me! I’m not complaining at all! If is majesty wants those dwarves I’ll drag them all back meself to keep im happy!”

“Eh, we’ll get those hill rats to deliver em right to the back door and take em from there. They’ve probably got em all tied up like presents by now and they’ll be easy ta get in that way.”

“Maybe they’re dead a-ready. Dead presents are my favorite kind!”

“Well I don’t remember right if that orc said they ad to be alive. And who says he needs all of em?”

That made all of them screech with laughter as they clambered out of the water again and headed off towards where the dwarves had made camp and, apparently, been captured by hill bandits if the goblins were to be relieved.

Bofur and Bilbo stayed hidden for a long minute or two until they were sure that more reinforcements wouldn’t be arriving. Then they exchanged a look, sleep completely forgotten, and both of them took off running down the river bank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to a new adventure! I kept trying to finish this chapter and then it kept getting longer. Now I'm going to settle down and wait out this tornado warning and sleep until Friday. Enjoy!
> 
> Edit - I'm perfectly fine, it just turned into a bit of hard rain. Thanks for the well wishes!


	26. A Loss and a Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Extreme Violence, Torture, Battle

They called themselves the Corcur.

Once they had been men of the kingdom of Rhudaur and followed in the dark steps of Angmar, but when the witch king’s armies were broken the hill men were left scattered and leaderless. One tribe fled to the Misty Mountains, to seek a new home in its snowy and goblin-infested peaks and there they found the Bitter Stair and Helegrod, which they claimed as their new seat of power. From there they molested travelers and merchants going to and from Rivendell, which vexed the elves terribly, but the men knew the mountains better than the elves and could not be driven out. Instead they festered in the mountains, ever loyal to Angmar. Over time they had built up a fragile alliance with the goblins in the south and even created something the vaguely resembled trade if you didn’t look at it too hard. The goblins traded the goods and pack animals that they had stolen from travelers in return for live prisoners that the hill men took during their raids on small villages and farms. It may not have been the most beneficial or humane trade but neither group complained about it too much unless there was a shortage of one or the other.

The Goblin King had not gotten to his throne just by his sheer size. He also had a mind as quick as any of his subject’s blades, so when he discovered that the pale orc Azog was offering a reward handsome enough to make even a goblin’s head turn he sent word to all of the mountains.

“Keep your eyes open,” he had told the Corcur the last time they had come, with prison cages full of crying women and half-dead farming men. “If you find any dwarves passing through the mountains I want them. I will pay you five times what you get for any of these.” He had gestured at the humans, who had shrieked and curled in on themselves, as if that would protect them somehow.

The hill men cared little for dwarves but they liked goods and horses and gold quite a lot, so five times their usual going rate was too good an offer to ignore. For days they scoured the hills, but dwarves rarely passed over the Misty Mountains and the thieves in their den could not be lured out no matter what lure or tactic they used. Most thought it a foolhardy hunt that only wasted resources and man power but their leader, a scarred man who went by the name of Hador, insisted that they continue their scouting even though it seemed as though no dwarf would be foolish enough to venture as far north as the mountains where they roamed. It was a well-known fact that the hill tribes roamed the northern peaks and most travelers chose to take the giant and goblin-held High Pass rather than risk being captured by the Corcur. They weren’t known for their mercy or for giving quick deaths.

It was the explosion that drew their attention that fateful evening. It was rare that scouting parties pressed so far into goblin territory, but the raids that summer hadn’t been as good as they usually were and it had driven the hill men and their hunting dogs even further out than usual in search of game or caravans. The sound of the blast had carried for miles and alerted almost every creature on the mountain. The goblins had lost too many in the attack to be eager to pick through the rubble until the worst of the fires had died down.

The Corcur had no such reservations.

They swarmed down from the hills, their slavering dogs held back by lengths of thick chain, only to discover that the easternmost entrance to the mountain had been completely caved in and ravaged by black powder-fueled flames. It kept them at bay for several hours, milling about to see if any survivors pushed their way through from the other side, but when none emerged they set to digging out the cave in themselves. There was little to find within. Many of the tunnels had collapsed and those that hadn’t were in danger of. Nothing had been spared by the blast and the only thing that the hill men found that was of interested were dozens of charred goblin skeletons and a few that might have been dwarf at one point. A few of them suggested that they bring these bones to the goblin king and see if he would give them anything for them, but these voices were silenced. The king did not suffer arrogance lightly and they would likely end up as corpses themselves if they tried to bring in such meager offerings. It seemed as though there would be nothing the salvage from whatever trap or accident had destroyed the thieves’ den.  

Just as they had given it up as a hopeless effort and begun to turn back to the northern peaks one of the dogs had begun to strain against his chain, snarling and snapping. It didn’t take the others long to pick up the scent either, even disguised as it was by the smell of ash.

Dwarf.

The hunt was on.

For all that Thorin and his company had been quick in their flight from the collapsing caverns and the resulting fire they hadn’t run as if to avoid pursuit. Once the Corcur had the scent the trail was easy to follow, marked as it was by boot prints and broken branches. Had they known what was following after them the company might have taken more care, but the damage was done and the hill men closed in just as the night did around the slumbering dwarves.

__________________________________

Thorin was not asleep despite the fact that he wasn’t due to take his turn at watch until much closer to sunrise. Instead he sat awake, his pipe clamped firmly between his teeth as he puffed away in a manner that suggested that the resident king and leader was a bit irate. And he was.

What else was he supposed to be when he was awoken in the dead of night by the sound of voices only to find his burglar deep in personal conversation with that flighty miner? Bofur was good enough in a fight and always seemed to have a song at the end of the day, but he wasn’t the first dwarf Thorin expected Bilbo to turn to.

 _You can’t have thought that he would come to you with his troubles_ , he chastised himself more than a little bitterly and sat up just in time to watch the hobbit and the dwarf disappear into the dark once Bofur had woken his watch relief. It wasn’t any of his business who his company members chose to dally with as long as it didn’t endanger the company or the quest, but that didn’t make the acid burn that settled in his belly abate in the slightest. _He_ was the one Bilbo had kissed that night in the caves, not Bofur. Unless hobbits were free with their affections even after the death of their one? Bilbo had told him that his affections had never been returned by his love so surely whatever dwarf he had grown attached to couldn’t have been his soul mate or else the feelings would have been reciprocated. Was the hobbit unattached after all, even if he didn’t realize it?

It seemed a ridiculous idea but Thorin had seen evidence more than once that hobbits were in no way the same as dwarves. Maybe they had more than one singular love that existed in the world and could recover from their deaths more easily. In fact, thinking back to their first meeting Thorin realized that Bilbo had appeared ill for quite some time, with a pale cast to his face and trembling hands. Lately he seemed much livelier but if it had been Bofur, thoughtless ham-handed Bofur who had put the flush back in the halfling’s cheeks…

Thorin bit down on the stem of his pipe so hard that it was a miracle that the thing didn’t snap right in half. The spicy, pungent tobacco did next to nothing to quiet his temper. It was the halfling’s choice who he took an interest in and if he was going to be so unwise in his selection then Thorin would say nothing on the matter. Not a single damn word.

He glanced back at the dark path the two had taken down to the river for what must have been the hundredth time and still there was no sign of the rogue lovers returning. At this rate they wouldn’t be back in time for breakfast and the company would be delayed even more. If Gandalf had been there Thorin might have demanded that he send a hex after them to interrupt their play and send them running back, but the wizard was nowhere to be found either and that rankled him even more. At this rate he’d be lucky if Fili and Kili were still at his side by the time they reached Erebor. Clearly everyone else was determined to run off on their own private business.

With a growl of temper Thorin pushed himself to his feet and scooped up his coat. He’d be hanged if he lost control of his own men so early into the journey. The pair of idiot lovers could contain themselves until they reached safety and where they weren’t endangering the entire company by wandering off to fuck and perhaps alert unforeseen enemies. He’d beat some sense into Bofur and maybe that would teach Bilbo the error of his ways as well. The idea of having the miner’s bruised and bloody face beneath his fists was far too appealing.

The muffled growl was his only warning that they were no longer along and it came far too late to make any difference.

__________________________________

It wasn’t hard to get close to the camp again. Neither the hill men nor the goblins had posted any sort of guard, rightly thinking that the massive fire they’d started and the howling and shouting  would keep away most anyone who came wandering by. Indeed, any beast or man with half a brain would have given the place as wide a berth as possible, but Bilbo and Bofur ventured in anyway. They had a vested interest in the goings-on of that dreadful meeting.

They crept along behind a line of thick bushes, doing their best not to listen to the screams and shouting that were coming from where they had left the rest of the company. Rushing in blindly would only get them captured or killed and then they’d be no use to anyone. Eventually Bilbo nearly ran face-first into a pine tree and Bofur used his mattock to hook one of the lower branches and haul himself up into it to get a better look. Sadly this lower branch was still much too high for Bilbo to be able to do the same, so Bofur had to lean backwards with his legs hooked over the branch and give him a hand up. They settled themselves there just high enough to see what all of the commotion was about.   

“Oh no,” Bilbo whispered, pressing one hand against his stomach and the other to his mouth so that no other sounds could escape.

It was a scene that would become one of his darkest nightmares.

There were at least twenty of the hill bandits, all of them clad in rough fabric that was torn at the knees and stained around the sleeves with who knew what. They were a shabby lot with long, greasy hair and eyes wild enough to match those of the ten dogs that prowled around their legs. Their dogs weren’t as big as wargs, but they snapped and slobbered just as viciously. Mixed in among the dogs and the men were the troop of goblins that they had seen crossing the river from the mouth of the cave. The lot of them had built up a massive fire in the center of what had been their little camp and it cast a fiery red and yellow glow over everything, making it look sharp and feral.

Most of the dwarves had been tied at their hands and their ankles by lengths of thick rope and sat back to back near the fire, though not close enough to be burned by it. Dwalin and Dori had been tied thrice over around their knees and by a thick length around their necks to keep them under control and both were sporting bruises and slices and every dwarf had rips in their clothes from the struggle. Dwalin lay on his side facing away from the tree were they hid, fighting at his bonds and roaring into the gag they’d shoved into his mouth. Gloin was using words that would have gotten his mouth washed out with dish soap in the Shire and Nori had one of the dogs practically standing on him, growling down at him every time the dwarf tried to shift, no doubt trying to get his bound hands to one of the many knives hidden on his person without success.

“They must’ve fought somethin’ fierce,” Bofur whispered as he took in the whole sight with wide eyes. Now that he took the time to notice, many of the hill men had indeed wrapped rags around their arms or legs where they looked to have been slice with something sharp or were sporting black eyes and there were two pairs of boots sticking out of a bush in the shadows that weren’t moving at all. For being taken unaware the dwarves had at least managed to rouse themselves fast enough to give their attackers a proper welcome.   

Neither the gathering nor the participants were the worst of what there was to see though. That right was reserved for the two groups of hill men and the ‘entertainment’ they had set up to amuse themselves until the goblins arrived to barter.

Poor Ori had been dragged into a circle of dogs and men and was being jabbed at with long spears, his beloved journal clutched to his chest as he tried to avoid each teasing thrust. They only sent him backwards into the ones waiting for him behind, like a deer caught in a thorn bush with nowhere safe to turn. Already he was covered in dozens of scratches and Bilbo saw that he had only barely missed losing his right eye when the terrified dwarf turned around to duck under yet another drive because there was a long bleeding scratch directly under it and one of his gloves was crimson. Tears streaked through the dirt and blood on his face and his breath was coming in frantic, heaving gasps. Ori might have been strong like his brother, but surrounded as he was there was nowhere for him to find an opening for either attack or escape. Bofur growled next to him, but they had little time to watch the show that Ori was being forced into because a screaming cry seized their attention and they leaned around the trunk of their tree to see what new horror the night had concocted for them.

Kili had tumbled onto his side as he pulled away from Oin’s support behind him. The young dwarf had a split lip and his hair was messy enough that it was almost impossible to see his face, but that didn’t keep his words from carrying up to where Bilbo and Bofur watched with horror.

“No, Fili! You bastards, let him go! Fili!”

But even Kili’s frantic cries were nearly drowned out by Thorin’s howl of fury and the laughter of the Corcur and the goblins as the blond prince was dragged away by his bound hands, kicking and shouting for all he was worth, to where the biggest goblin and a bandit who looked like half of his face had been ripped off by a bear stood. Back at the group Thorin had managed to get to his feet despite being hobbled and had thrown off the goblin that had tried to push him back again. The only thing that stopped him from going after his nephew was the rope around his neck. It snapped tight with a sharp cracking sound and Thorin was ripped right off his feet with a choking noise while the goblins shrieked with mirth. Bilbo winced and raised his hand to his own throat in sympathy.

“We have to do something now or we may not have another chance.” He tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible so that the dog’s keen ears wouldn’t pick up on it over the din of the camp. There was no such thing as too careful in a situation like this. Below them Fili was trying to bite the hand of the big Corcur but was scared into stillness when the human drew a knife as long as his forearm out of a sheath at the small of his back. It was as big as any of the swords that the dwarves wielded but in the hands of the human it practically looked like a butter knife. Even from as far away as he was Bilbo could see that the edge of it was jagged and flecked with rust.

“Tell me ye got a better plan than runnin’ in there and going ‘drop yer weapons pretty please’.”

“Why must you ruin all of my best ideas?”

“Well the cave and yer bit of jewelry were all well an’ good, but this’s pushin’ things a bit.”

“Oh hush, I’m thinking.”

And he had to think fast because Fili now lay struggling at the feet of the Corcur leader, his eyes wide and frightened until a vicious kick to his middle by an iron-toed boot made him go as limp as a boned fish. Thorin bellowed again, but the rope around his neck went taught again, keeping him well away from Fili and half-throttling him in the process.

A cold sweat broke out on Bilbo’s forehead and he chewed hard on his bottom lip as he thought, discarding idea after idea as he found a flaw that would get them captured or killed.

“That’s twelve dwarves; all trussed up like hens and whole enough to suit anyone.” The bandit coughed and spat out a glob of slime that hit Fili’s cheek. The prince didn’t move, though Bilbo couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or not.

“Eh, King never said whether he wanted ‘em alive or not. Don’t matter much to us, long as they don’t cause trouble when we haul ‘em in.”

“And our payment?”

“You’ll get it when we get ‘em inside. Got it all stocked up jus’ in case ye did come across much interestin, though we was startin’ to think not.

A couple of the Corcur growled at this and there was a pained yelp from Ori as one of the javelins carved a red line into his leg. It collapsed under him and his journal tumbled away as he fell into the mud and curled up into a ball. Dori screamed and his face went crimson as he fought to rip apart the ropes that kept him away from his brother, but to no avail.

“Bilbo! Think faster, we’re runnin’ out of time.”

“I know I know, I just – wait. Wait, I think I have something. Listen, I need you to try to sneak into camp without anyone noticing you. Pretend that you’ve been there the whole time and wrap some untied rope around your wrists and ankles so they won’t think anything is wrong – I have a bit of it in my pack over to the side there by that bush. See if you can free any of the others, alright? I’m going to cause a distraction and hopefully we’ll be able to slip away during that.”

“What’re you going to do? You’ll be caught right away if you try to get into that lot.”

The hobbit’s smile was small, but there was a steadiness behind it. “They can’t catch what they can’t see. Don’t worry about me, just go help the others and be ready to run. Your part is more dangerous than mine, so be careful.”

 Bofur gave him a quick nod before using his mattock to swing down out of the tree and into the darkness below. There was a soft crunch as he landed in the wet pine needles but it went unnoticed and Bilbo’s racing heart slowed a little as he watched the dwarf’s shadowy figure move off towards the far side of the camp. Now he just had to do his part before Fili ended up on the edge of that rusty blade. His eyes snapped back to the unmoving prince and his captors, who were arguing about whether the agreed price had been two horses and three bags of goods per dwarf or three horses and two bags off goods. There was no way that they could take on so many enemies in the state they were.

The hobbit made sure that Sting was sheathed firmly at his side and began to shimmy out across his branch, holding tight to the one above his head in case he lost his footing. The wood was wet and slippery with moss and rain water and it was slow going and more than once a piece of the bark flaked off and went tumbling down and nearly landed on one of the dogs. The beast turned in a circle, growling and smashing its flat face into the ground to sniff about, but it didn’t look up and Bilbo only barely held in his sigh of relief.

“It was two horses and three bags and if you don’t like it I’ll take it up with that fat king of yours personally and bring your head with me!”

Another few steps brought him almost directly over the arguing pair.

“Fine! But if the king don’t like it it’ll be you he comes after first! Now get the lot of ‘em down to the back door and make it quick. Sun’ll be comin’ up soon and it hurts my eyes. Get on with it!” The goblin scowled and made a slashing motion with his claws. The Corcur ignored him and turned to watch the band leader, leaving off on tormenting the poor dwarves for a moment while they waited for their orders.

“One last thing. I’m thinkin’ I want a bit of a souvenir for all the hard work we did tonight, digging and chasing down these here dwarves.” He moved too fast for Bilbo to think about dropping in to stop him and before he could even loosen his grip on the branch above his head the hill bandit had reached down and seized Fili by his hair, his knife moving in a downward arch of silver and rust.

Kili screamed; a high, broken sound. Thorin roared and fought like a caged animal and the rest of the dwarves struggled against their bonds as if they could somehow rip their way free of them.

The bandit held up a thick handful of golden hair and Fili dropped back to the ground with a hard thump and whimper, curling back into a ball with his knees pressed against his chest, the ragged ends of his shorn hair tangling over his eyes, no strand long enough to even reach his shoulders any more.  

“That’ll make a pretty decoration for the women folk. Might braid it into a nice vest for me – dwarves always got the nicest hair for that sort of work. Good as animal pelt it is.”

Bilbo moved. One hand plunged into his pocket and he slipped on the ring even as he let go of the branch and plummeted towards the ground. He’d thought it would be an easy thing to don, like it had always been before. A bit cold and gray around the edges of his vision, but nothing to fuss about.

He’d been so wrong.

In the two seconds it took him to land behind the goblin band leader an icy fist wrapped itself around his heart and twisted it viciously enough to make his vision go white. _It knew_. Somehow the ring could tell that he knew what it held and it wasn’t pleased. It was harder to manipulate those who knew what evil it carried inside of it and it wanted to be far away from Bilbo Baggins. There would be no returning to its master in the hands of this hobbit, so the only way to further its own cause was to find a new bearer. Painful tendrils lashed at the hobbit again and again, trying to make him let go of it, to take it off and drop it where a goblin or one of the bandits could pick it up instead, but as Bilbo’s feet hit the ground he made as tight a fist as he could and held on. There wasn’t any way he could let the ring go now, even though it was driving icicles into the very fabric of his being. He needed it and he hated it so because of that. For the pain it had caused him and would no doubt cause his family if Frodo was forced to carry it one day. By Eru did he hate it…

The goblin made a curious sound and began to turn to investigate the crunching sound that had come from behind it, drawing its short sword. There was nothing there. The moment it turned back however its arm short forward as if propelled by invisible hands and the sword sank deep into the belly of the Corcur, all the way to the hilt.

The human stilled, the golden strands of Fili’s hair slowly falling out of his grasp as he looked down at the sword protruding from his middle. As slowly as death he looked back up at the goblin, which had gone pale even beneath its rot-colored skin tone.

“Men! We have been betrayed! Kill the lot of them!” The Corcur roared, staggering backwards a single step and drawing a huge mace from over his shoulder, which he managed to bring down with a roar. The goblin’s head exploded in a shower of gray matter and bone and the Corcur collapsed backwards, succumbing to the blade in his gut as the camp erupted with a roar. Swords and daggers and hammers were drawn as the humans and the goblins collided with shrieks of bloodlust and pain. Here the winner would take everything and the loser wouldn’t have enough life left in them to slink away to lick their wounds.

The second the attention turned away from the first corpses Bilbo slid off the ring and nearly wept with relief as the pain and freezing cold abated. The cursed piece of jewelry was shoved back into his pocket and he buttoned it shut to make sure that it didn’t go rolling out and into worse hands.  The he dashed to Fili’s side and fell to his knees next to the prince, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him onto his face so that he could untie the ropes that bound his hands together.

“Fili! Get up, we have to go!”

Fili whimpered and ground his face into the dirt and pine needles, his whole body shaking. “Bilbo – he cut it off, it’s all gone. I can’t – “

“You can! Now get up this instant or I’ll pinch you somewhere you don’t’ want me to! We have to rescue the others, so save feeling sorry for yourself until later.”

Some part of that seemed to get through to him, though Bilbo wasn’t sure whether it was the bit about the pinching or helping the others.

“Kili?”

“Kili’s fine for now, but we have to go or now of us are going to be. On your feet!” The last of the ropes fell away under his hands. Luckily the knots hadn’t been overly complex, just sturdy and tight so it hadn’t taken very long to get them undone. He could only hope that Bofur had managed to get a few of the others free as well otherwise it would take valuable time to get everyone free and by then the battle that was raging around them might have settled. A goblin shrieked and fell to the ground next to them, its chest caved in from a hammer swing and they both rolled out of the way to avoid its thrashing death throes. Fili staggered to his feet, one arm wrapped around his middle as if he had damaged something, but at least he wasn’t fretting over his hair anymore. Together they ran as quickly as they could across the wet pine needles, ducking under sword swings and over bodies in their mad dash to get back to the others.

“Ho! Come on then, I’ve had enough of this lot! No manners!” Bofur hailed them and waved his hat as they slid to a stop. The miner had managed to get Gloin, Dwalin, Bombur, Nori, and Bifur undone during the chaos and the moment he finished slicing through Oin’s binds with a long boot knife the old healer dwarf dashed over and scooped up Ori where he lay in a heap. A dead dog and two more bandits lay nearby with signs that they had been hit by a heavy blunt object and Bilbo tried to ignore the bits of blood and hair on the edges of Bofur’s mattock. Whatever it took to free the others would be acceptable, even if it did turn his stomach a little.

Sting came out and Bilbo began to saw at Dori’s bonds. Before he was even halfway through the tinker shredded the last of the rope and ripped away the ones at his ankles with a shout of anger and a couple of choice words that should have sent both the bandits and the goblins running for the hills. The second he was free Dori seized Ori from Oin and slung the youngest Ri over his shoulder, not willing to put him down for a moment. Bilbo knew exactly how he felt as he turned to find that Fili had already freed his brother and the two had seized hold of each other like lifelines, their faces pale and streaked with tears.

“Come on then, grab what you can and let’s be off!” Cried Balin as he shed the last of his bindings and ran for where their weapons had been left in a pile. A goblin had picked up the old scribe’s sword but he was swiftly dispatched by a pointed boot to the groin. Most of the others followed his lead but Thorin was a bit slower because he was still grappling with the noose around his neck even as Bofur fought to undo the ties around his boots. Every yank at the thing only made it tighter and it looked like the king was going to strangle himself to death before their captors noticed them and finished the job. Bilbo ran back for them and grabbed Thorin by his wrists.

“Stop pulling, you’re just making it worse! For one time in your life would you just hold still and let me help?” Bilbo ignored the baleful glare that was leveled at him and pulled the rope apart at the knot so that it fell limply to the ground. Expecting a ferocious tirade to come down on his head Bilbo was shocked when Thorin stayed dead silent and pushed his way past, heading for where his sword and pack lay rather than berating the burglar for arriving late. He and Bofur shared a quick, started glance and then followed after, their weapons at hand as they waited for everyone to arm themselves. Bombur managed to snag Ori’s journal out from under the body of one of the Corcur dogs and nearly got himself carved up like a holiday roast when he stumbled between a bandit and a goblin going at it with knives. Bifour managed to grab him by his beard loop and pull him out of harm’s way in the nick of time, but it was a close thing.

“Let’s go, quickly!” Bilbo called, not wanting anything more to do with goblins or being captured for a good long while. He’d had quite enough of both and just wanted to be finished for a little while.

With most of the packs and all of the weapons reclaimed the company plunged into the underbrush, not paying any heed to the sharp branches and thorns that whipped at their faces and arms as they fought through bushes and thickets down to the river’s edge and then along the bank of it, moving as fast as they could with arms and legs left bloodless by the tight ropes. Ori was in no condition to run at all and Dori was slowed by his weight, while Fili and Kili limped along with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders in an attempt to support one another. Bofur was up in front, his sharp eyes picking out the safest path while Thorin and Bilbo brought up the rear, their swords in their hands as they continuously glanced back over their shoulders for pursuers.

It didn’t take long for them to appear. With a great howl three hunting dogs dashed around the river bank, their fur ashy blue and flecked with red in the dusky morning light that had just barely begun to illuminate the forest. Behind them came their masters. At least ten of the bandits had survived the battle with the goblins, though many of them were sporting slices or broken ribs enough to slow them. Even with those handicaps they were still gaining on the company because of their longer legs.

“Catch ‘em, lads!” Cried one of the bandits as he brandished what looked like a harvesting sickle. “Cut open their bellies and take their packs! Won’t be a total loss!”  

One of the dogs lunged at Thorin’s ankles and its head went rolling away and the dwarf swung down with his sword and severed it completely. The two remaining dogs yelped and sniffed at the corpse for a second until the cries of the bandits spurred them on again and they snarled as they leapt forward, spurred on by the smell of blood.

Even as they leapt Bilbo and Thorin stopped and turned, their swords raised to face them down. Dwalin and a few of the others shouted behind them, but he was too far away to reach them in time.

The dogs they could handle. The men?

“I’m glad I’m at your side,” Bilbo whispered. If this was the end he wanted Thorin to at least know that much. The dogs howled as they jumped, teeth bared, ready to rip out their throats. Bilbo raised his sword, preparing to swing, and –

A blinding flash lit up the river, making everyone take a step backwards. They dogs yelped and dropped into the mud, legs pedaling as they fought to get away from this new enemy. The Corcur drew up short; weapons lowering slightly as they pawed at their eyes and one began to scream that he had been blinded.

Gandalf had finally arrived.

The wizard stood up to his ankles in the cold water, gnarled staff raised and robes hanging from his bony arms like the tatty wings of an old crow. “You think to test the wrath of a wizard do you?” He bellowed. “Go! Go back to your mountains and your snow and haunt this place no longer!” The staff came down with a mighty crack and the river swelled beneath their feet until it became a wall nearly ten feet high. The bandits, showing more intelligence than Bilbo would have credited them with, turned and ran with the water bearing down on them until they were out of sight.

The hobbit sagged, his relief and exhaustion so great that his sword point got buried in the mud.

“Gandalf! Thank goodness, I was worried there for a moment.”

The wizard gave him an amused look as he sloshed his way out of the water. The rest of the company had assembled on the banks, all of them talking at once though neither Bilbo nor Gandalf paid them much mind.

“Just for a moment, Bilbo? You have steadier nerves than even your mother and I thought her to be the most level headed hobbit west of Rivendell.”  

“Must run in the blood. Can we please go now? I’m hungry and I desperately want to have a lie down.” It took a herculean effort to raise his sword enough to get the mud off of it and sheath it again and then his arms fell limply to his sides, drained of the adrenaline that had fueled him earlier.

Gandalf was back. All would be well.


	27. The Shadow of a Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

It was a very odd sort of dream; the sort that made sense while you were dreaming it but when you awoke you realized that none of it had ever made any sense at all. 

Bilbo was running through Bag End. The halls were much larger than they were in reality, stretching up into the darkness, and there seemed to be a great many more rooms as well. One for silver spoons, one for vests, and one for gardening tools (even though he wouldn’t have kept his tools inside. He had a shed for that). But there were also rooms for decidedly odd things like swords and armor, things that no respectable hobbit would have had in their homes and yet they felt like they belonged there anyway. One by one he opened doors and peered inside to see what he would find therein. It wasn’t that he was looking for anything specifically; it was more of a sense that he would know why he had been looking when he found whatever it was. It seemed perfectly normal until he came to the empty room. 

“Hello?” He stepped in and peered around into the darkness, his brow furrowed in confusion. Unlike the other rooms this one was cold and dark and seemed to not hold much of anything.

_This is a room for dark things._

The ceiling was so high that there seemed to be no end to it, and when he turned to look at the door it too had grown so tall that a full grown human would have had a hard time reaching the knob. He felt no bigger than a field mouse here, and a very undersized field mouse at that. A soot ball could have knocked him head over heels, but there didn’t appear to be any nor breath of wind to stir them.

As he turned for the door to leave the room and continue to the next he saw something in the corner, in the shadow that the massive door had cast. If he hadn’t been looking in the exact right direction he might have missed it completely and left without ever knowing that he had overlooked something.

But there it was. A golden ring.

He picked it up carefully and cradled it in his hands as if it was a small bird rather than a bit of jewelry. For all that it couldn’t have weighed more than a feather it seemed unbearably heavy and he needed both hands to keep it from breaking his wrists like twigs.

“There you are,” Bilbo whispered to it. “Was I looking for you? I can’t seem to remember right now, but I know it was something important.”

_Put it down, it does not belong to you. Another should carry it. One more worthy._

_No, you need it. Don’t let go of it for anything._

_Drop it, it will bring only pain!_

_Hold on! It will save everything!_

_And destroy it in the end._

_Keep –_

_No –_

There was a scuffing noise behind him and the hobbit spun around in time to see a shadow slide past the open door, which had shrunk back to normal size again. “Hello?” Bilbo called after it, walking back into the endless hall of doors. “Excuse me, but what are you doing in my house?” 

There was no one there.

For all that there was nothing to cast it, the shadow continued to work its way down the wall, its shape becoming sharper the further away it got and Bilbo found himself chasing after it, his feet making no noise as he dashed away from the dark room with the heavy ring still clutched tightly in his sweaty hands.

“Hello! Wait! Come back!”

The shadow dipped and wavered as it passed over closed door, sometimes disappearing completely as it rounded corners only to come back into sight again when Bilbo followed after, determined to figure out exactly what had invaded his sanctuary. A wraith? A ghost?

No matter how fast he walked he couldn’t seem to catch up and finally he broke into a run. The ring grew hot in his fist as he ran as fast as he could, trying to reach the shadow. He recognized that shape – he remembered its broad shoulders and billowing coat as intimately as if they had been carved on the very fabric of his being – he was a shadow of a memory.

“Please stop, don’t go that way! Look, I found it! I can save everyone with it, I’m trying! Please! I’m trying!” He shouted after it, raising the ring up, trying to show the shadow. It was the key to everything; it had to be. If the ring couldn’t help him save them this time then there was no magic on earth that could make things right. The floor slanted beneath his feet suddenly and Bilbo fell forward, his hands smacking into the floor as he tried to keep from falling backwards and losing every step he had gained. The ring slipped out of his hands and bounced once, twice, and then it was gone. It had abandoned him.

The shadow kept walking with a confident stride, unhindered by the slope, growing further and further away and heading for the door at the end of the tunnel. Unlike Bilbo’s brilliantly green front door this one was painted red. It was peeling at the bottom, revealing a smoky blackness underneath and a sickly yellow light was trickling out from under it. It wasn’t a door Bilbo ever wanted to go near but it seemed to be the shadow’s destination.

Bilbo watched, clinging to the tilted floor, as the shadow peeled itself off of the wall and took shape, shedding its darkness like fog until only shreds clung to its sleeves and the heels of its boots.

 “No, Tho - !”

Oily tendrils of blackness shot out of the floor and wrapped around his mouth, poured down his throat, silencing him so that he couldn’t cry out. They held him down, twining around his legs and arms when he tried to pull them away. He couldn’t breathe. He could barely see as the stuff started to cover his eyes. He was being dragged into the floor and Bilbo knew that he was the one who was supposed to be the shadow now, trapped forever in that in between place. But somehow he had to warn…about the…

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open and he nearly screamed as he found himself staring at a pair of massive golden eyes. It took him a long moment to calm down enough to realize that they were not in fact eyes, but eye spots. The moth that had landed on his nose while he slept seemed to sense his regard and fanned its wings once, twice, before it took off and fluttered out of sight.

With a groan the hobbit sat up, but it was a bit too quickly and his head spun wildly enough that he had to lean forward and brace his forehead against his drawn up legs and wait for the dizziness to pass. There were leaves in his hair – they scratched his arms while he concentrated on breathing as slowly and deeply as he could manage until he felt more like himself again. The sound of talking and a bit of laughter met his ears when his heartbeat quieted enough to hear them and he realized that they must have made camp at some point, though he didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered was running along behind Bifur as they put as much distance between themselves and the battle as they could. Had he fallen asleep on his feet? His nose didn’t feel raw so at least he had managed not to land on his face. Bilbo rubbed the appendage in question and finally looked up.

This time there really was a pair of eyes looking back at him, except these were icy blue rather than golden.

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bwahaha, take this mini chapter and suffer!
> 
> No, not really. Things have just been a bit hectic around here between a ton of night shifts and a very sick kitten, so I haven't had as much time to write as I would like. Luckily I've already started on the next chapter and I have a few days off soon so you shouldn't have to wait much longer for the next part. Expect fluff. Followed by porn. 
> 
> As a second note I wrote up some chapter notes during a lull at work and as far as I can figure it I have between 30-35 more chapters to write before I finish this fic.  
> I must be insane.


	28. Like the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Tending of Hurts

Bilbo made a noise that was trapped somewhere between a shriek and saying ‘good morning’ and simply came out as ‘eee-orning’.

Thorin wasn’t impressed. While Bilbo scrambled to find his feet the dwarf king stood from where he’d been sitting on an exposed root and walked away without a word, leaving Bilbo feeling very muzzy headed and confused. Had it been something he’d said?

A leaf was plucked out of his hair, followed quickly by two more while he took a proper look around to see where fate had landed them this time. The rest of the company had spread themselves out over a small clearing in the trees and there was a fire going in the middle of it, over which dangled a fat black cooking pot and tea pot that only had a few chips in it. The sun shone down from the east, revealing that it must have been about midmorning. Gandalf sat with his back to one of the trees next to Balin, and both of them were deep in quiet conversation and smoking. That the wizard was back with them again brought him no end of relief. It seemed to be true that wizards showed up exactly when they meant to, as long as ‘when they meant to’ meant ‘at the very last moment possible’.

No one was tied up – good. There didn’t seem to be any immediate signs of danger – even better. His coat had gone missing, along with everything in his pockets – very very bad. The soggy remains of his list were in there, along with…wait, no. He patted the buttoned front pocket of his vest and felt the familiar shape of the ring nestled therein. Not gone yet. That was something, but that also meant that Thorin’s ring was still missing.

“Gandalf, have you seen my coat?” He asked as he made his way over to the wizard, straightening his vest and tucking his undershirt back into the tops of his trousers as he walked. Goodness gracious his feet were sore. Of course, at this age he hadn’t built up the same callouses from long walking trips that he had by the time he reached seventy so he was still as soft as a gentle hobbit was supposed to be. A few more weeks of hard roads and lean rations would no doubt put him right back into the same lean shape that he’d once been in before the softness of old age caught up with him again. For now he’d just avoid stepping on too many sharp rocks.

Balin toasted him with his pipe as he came up. “Mister Baggins. You gave us all quite a start when you decided to take a nap in the middle of our flight.”

Bilbo went crimson in embarrassment and spluttered a bit, not quite sure how to give a proper accounting of himself, since professional burglars weren’t exactly known for giving up the ghost right in the middle of the action like he’d apparently done.

“Now now, as I’ve told you Balin, hobbits are not quite as hardy as dwarves. They need more rest and food than you do and Bilbo has clearly not been getting enough of one or the other. I expected you to take better care of my guest.” Gandalf raised his eyebrows at Balin and blew a smoke ring that turned itself into a lizard that went crawling away up into the branches of the tree he was leaning against.

“None of us have been having an easy time of things, Master Gandalf,” Balin protested, but there was no ire in his voice and he winked at Bilbo from under one bushy white brow. “But now that we’re out of that mess, thanks quite a bit to Mister Baggins I might add, I think that he deserves a bit of a rest.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said, mollified. “I’m sure any of you would have done the same.”

“Perhaps. But I’m not sure many would have been able to drop in as quietly as you and turn the entire camp into a battleground to cover our escape.”

Gandalf chuckled. “I do believe that I told you that he had quite a bit to offer the company. It seems that we can add ‘rescuing dwarves’ to Bilbo’s list of talents.”

“I’m, ah, very light-footed. Good for that sort of thing, don’t you know. Gandalf? My coat?” This was straying too close to the ‘what were you doing before everyone was captured?’ question for his liking and he hadn’t had time to come up with a suitable excuse yet other than ‘I went on a very long walk in the pitch dark and fell in the river. Oh yes, and Bofur came too’, which wasn’t very believable at all when it came down to it.

“Last I saw of it Dori had confiscated it and was going to mend the sleeve. One of them tore right off when you decided that you’d had enough of our company.”

“Aye, Thorin grabbed it so you wouldn’t fall on your face and it came off clean. Luckily the second one didn’t or you’d be nursing a black eye or the like. Then again,” the old dwarf mused, “you’d match the rest of us is you had a battle wound or two.”

“I scratched up my hands a bit,” Bilbo admitted, showing Balin his ragged palms and scraped knuckles. They were observed and tutted over before Balin patted his wrist in a grandfatherly manner that almost made Bilbo laugh. He’d long ago passed the age where that was appropriate, but Balin was well into his two hundreds and would probably always be older than Bilbo no matter how many times he managed to reincarnate. It was simply the way of things – Balin was an elder and treated everyone as if they were troublemaking tweens (even Gandalf on occasion).

“You get Oin to look those over for you - wouldn’t do for our burglar to take ill from a scratch. He’ll wrap you up once he finishes tending to Ori.”

Gandalf nodded sagely and both of them made shooing motions at Bilbo with their pipes. Feeling very much dismissed Bilbo left the two conniving old men to their chit chat and turned back to the rest of the little camp, his hand occasionally straying to the little shape in his front pocket as if to assure himself that it was still there. The memory of the pain and ice that had swallowed him when he put it on wasn’t a pleasant one but it certainly acted as a good deterrent towards putting it on again. As long as it didn’t decide to roll off while he was sleeping it could sit in his pocket as stay there until he reached Erebor. After all, he was a master burglar and master burglars couldn’t always rely on rings of invisibility.

On the heels of the terror that had pursued them for the last few days it felt almost surreal to be able to take a deep breath and know that he didn’t have to run or hide. The little camp was at peace. Bombur was doctoring his soup with a sprig of rosemary, deep in conversation with Gloin about how well their wives cooked, while it seemed that his brother and cousin had followed Bilbo’s example. Bofur was asleep and snoring fit to wake the dead with his hat over his face, its floppy ears drooping over his unbraided pigtails. Bifur had cuddled up to his boar spear with his back against a tree, his beard fluttering with each breath.

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile a little as he stepped over Bofur’s heavy boots. All of them deserved a bit of rest. Hopefully they hadn’t found themselves too far north to pay Beorn a visit – Bilbo found himself longing for the shape shifter’s comfortable lodge and lovely gardens more than a little bit. And real beds…

A ragged moan broke through his reverie and he grimaced. Not all of them had made it out completely whole. Rather than continue the few steps to where he could see Oin and Dori bandaging up a loudly complaining Ori he made for where Fili was sprawled on the ground with his face buried in his brother’s lap. The prince made another pathetic noise as Bilbo walked up. Kili was speaking in rapid Khuzdul and touching the uneven ends of Fili’s hair, his eyes wide and uncertain. The young prince shot Bilbo a look of mixed horror and relief as he walked up, clearly thankful that someone who might know what to do had come along.

 _‘Where did their grouch of an uncle run off to?_ ’ Bilbo wondered as he crouched down on his heels next to the princes and gave Kili what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Thorin should have been at their sides, comforting them after the scare that they’d all been put through, not playing strong and silent on the other side of the camp. He fought so hard to get to Fili during their capture after all; it seemed very odd that he wouldn’t be the one here instead of the burglar.

“Now what’s the cause for all this fuss?” Bilbo asked softly, using the same tone he’d used before on hobbit kits when they’d fallen or stubbed their toes and weren’t sure whether or not they wanted to cry about it.

Fili didn’t budge but his stranglehold on Kili’s waist seemed to ease a little.

“That human – “ he spat something in Khuzdul that Bilbo assumed was very unflattering, “ – d-did you see what he did?” Kili’s voice broke for a moment before he took a deep breath to try to regain his composure, his hands buried in what was left of his brother’s hair. Fili’s long golden mane had been sheared short enough that the back of his neck was visible in places. The knife had cut awkwardly enough to leave some strands long enough to brush the prince’s shoulders while others had nearly been shaved off completely.

“It’s not so bad,” Bilbo lies, reaching out to ruffle what was left of the prince’s hair. “Did I ever tell you about the time my great uncle Crado convinced me to let him trim my hair? It used to be quite long when I was a kit and was constantly falling in my eyes then. I should have known better than to let him considering he was a butcher, but there I was a few hours later with a bald stripe going right down the middle of my head and one of my ears bleeding. My mother didn’t let him come to visit until I was in my tweens after that and I still have a scar from it. See?” He leaned in and turned his head so that they could see the thin white line where his uncle had nearly lopped the tip of his ear off with a razor blade.

Kili made a horrified noise and reached out to touch the scar. His rough fingers sent a tingling jolt through Bilbo – his ears had always been sensitive. It was a very personal thing for hobbits to allow their ears to be touched, even more so than kissing and it was usually reserved for bed play. The burglar made sure to hold himself very still while Kili explored and then again when Fili made a red-eyed appearance to investigate as well. Pretty soon he had two princes pawing at his hair and his ears, trying to talk over one another all the while.  

“How long did it take to grow – “

“Did it hurt?”

“What was he using, an axe?”

“Uncle Thorin would have beaten him until he – “

“Do hobbits really cut their hair?”

“Is it that curly by itself or do you have to – “

“Do you think you could fix – “

If he’d let them Bilbo knew that the two brothers could have easily talked until lunch time. But at least Fili was sitting up and not moaning like he’d had all of his ribs broken instead of a bit of his hair and Kili wasn’t on the verge of panicked tears. He considered that a good exchange for having his ears and hair molested a bit, but finally shooed away the curious fingers when he’d had enough. A violently pink blush had settled itself over his cheekbones and ears, but hopefully the princes wouldn’t think anything of it. For all that they could be surprisingly childlike in their fears and interests he also had to keep in mind that they were young adults in dwarven culture and had propositioned him on more than one occasion. It wouldn’t do to treat them as if he weren’t aware of either their status or the way they could go from puppies to wolves in the time it took to say ‘stop touching my ears’.

So he flapped his hands like an old maid and made shushing noises at both of them until the brothers fell silent and looked up at him expectantly.

“Of course it grew back, that’s the nature of hair! There’s no need to carry on like it’s the end of the world.” For a moment he was tempted to pull of Fili’s mustache to make his point, but he’d already pushed his luck enough with ruffling his hair earlier. Dwarves could be a bit off about having their hair touched, especially by those who weren’t kin. While they had grown close over their travels Bilbo wasn’t sure that he’d reached the point with the princes where they’d be comfortable with having a hobbit messing about with their hair. His ears were one thing, but they didn’t know about the standard that came with that sort of touch whereas he knew enough about dwarven culture not to play around with Fili’s mustache. He’d probably be even more protective of it now that the rest of his hair had met an unfortunate demise.

“But look at it!” Fili whined, grabbing a double handful of the long strands that framed his face and pulling on them wretchedly. “Now it looks horrible and I’ll never be able to live it down!”

“I’d be more worried about that kick you got rather than your hair,” Bilbo pointed out, ever the voice of reason. “Give it a couple of years and it will all grow back in again. We just need to give it all a trim and maybe put some new braids in it and it’ll be as good as new.” 

Both princes’ eyes widened.

“Trim it?!”

“You’re going to braid it?”

“But it’s already short!”

“I know it’s short, but would you rather have it be evenly short and look nice or keep looking like a - a beaver with a mustache that somebody went at with a pair of rusty shears?” Bilbo snapped, standing up and propping his hands on his hips. They may have been young dwarves, but a bit of lost hair was hardly worth the protest they were making over it.  

Fili’s hands snapped up to his head and he looked over at Kili.

“He’s kind of right, you do look a bit silly like that,” the younger prince mumbled and then yelped when Fili gave him a solid thump over the back of his head.

“Of course I’m right; I’m the only one in this entire camp with a bit of sense with the exception of Gandalf. Now I’m going to get Dori so that he can do something about it and we can all stop listening to you cry about it.

“I wasn’t crying! And I thought you said that you were going to do it?” The betrayed look that Fili gave him almost made Bilbo cave, but he gave himself a solid pinch and steeled himself against the prince’s big brown eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not a hairdresser. The most I’ve done is trim my nephew’s bangs, and those were curly. I don’t know the first thing about cutting dwarf hair so you’d probably end up looking like Dwalin if you let me do it.” He nearly laughed at how pale both of them went. “I’ll go find Dori and I’m sure he’ll have you back to normal in no time. Just no more theatrics or I’ll suggest to him that your mustache needs to be a bit shorter as well.”  

With the agonized cries of the princes ringing in his ears Bilbo turned on his heel and headed over to where Ori was trying to stop Oin from shoving gauze up his nose.

Dori had his red coat spread over his lap, but both of the sleeves looked like they were properly attached now. The eldest Ri was busy trying to keep his youngest brother from running away from Oin’s less than gentle ministrations and Bilbo schooled his features into something slightly more serious. He doubted either of the elder dwarves would appreciate him laughing at their struggles and Ori would probably go red right to his hair and then refuse to be doctored anymore.

“Good morning!”

“Ah, good morning Mister Baggins,” Dori greeted him as he came up. “I trust you had a good rest?”

“I think it would have been better if I hadn’t woken up to find that I’d decided to start it in the middle of running. I hope I wasn’t out for very long, it’s all very embarrassing.” Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and then winced when it tugged at the raw skin on his hands. He’d gotten used to the dull throbbing there that he kept surprising himself when he looked at his palms. Crawling about in caves and trees had done him no favors and he didn’t have tough, work-roughened hands like most of the dwarves. Or at least he didn’t yet.

“No more than three hours or so,” the tinker assured him as he held onto one of Ori’s wrists so that Oin could slather salve on a shallow cut on his shoulder.

“Dori, let go! I’m fine; I don’t need to be – ouch! Stop it!”

“Lad, yer worse than Gloin with an aching tooth. Now hold still an’ let me finish or else I’ll let it go an’ fester.” Oin had a needle held between two of his teeth and a very small pair of magnifying glasses perched on the end of his nose so that he could see what he was doing. Apparently Ori’s caterwauling was loud enough that even the half deaf doctor could hear it with ease. However the threat of infection had Ori settling down a bit and Dori was able to let him go without the youngest scampering off to lick his wounds.

“You can have your book back when Oin has finished with you and not a second before. I don’t care if you think you’re going to forget the details. I’d rather have the whole thing be a few sentences shorter and not have to clean any more blood out of your clothes.”

“Speaking of clothes,” Bilbo said quickly, seizing his chance.

Dori made a startled noise and held up Bilbo’s walking coat. “Of course, there we are Mister Baggins. I’m afraid I can’t say that it’s as good as new, but I trimmed the stray threads at the edges and the sleeve should hold up for a while longer. There were some soggy bits of paper in one of the pockets but they were quite ruined, so I hope that you don’t mind that I threw them away.”

Bilbo’s heart stopped for a moment and then picked back up at its proper rate. If his list had been ruined than there was no chance of any of the dwarves reading it, so it didn’t matter that Dori had done him the favor of cleaning out his pockets. “It’s alright; it was just a bit of nonsense. I can always rewrite it later on if I want to.” It would give him something to work on once – _if_ they reached Beorn’s house. “I don’t suppose there was a ring in there as well?”

“Oh yes, I left it in your left pocket. Wouldn’t want something like that to go wandering now, would we?” Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dori’s voice sounded practically smug as he handed over the red jacket. Of course the wink that followed most certainly wasn’t and Bilbo went the exact same color as his coat as he snatched it back.

“No, since I’m just looking after it. Thank you for fixing it though.” In desperation he turned to Oin. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Eh?” Said Oin, looking up from another scratch on Ori’s arm and peering at the hobbit over the top of his glasses. “What was that about smelt?”

“I asked if there was anything I could do to help!” Bilbo ignored Dori’s amused cough from behind him.

“Oh, that’s different.” Oin reached behind him and shoved a roll of bandages and a tin of salve into Bilbo’s hands. “Go check on Thorin. He probably strangled himself with that rope.”

“I’ll bring some tea over when it’s ready,” added Dori.

Bilbo made a little ‘ah’ noise as he remembered why he’d wanted to talk to Dori in the first place. “Dori, Fili’s hair looks dreadful. Do you think that you could see if you could even it out a little bit and make him look a little less like an orc went at him with a pair of garden shears?”

The sly expression melted right off of Dori’s face and was replaced by irritation and sorrow. “My tool chest was left behind during our escape and my scissors were in it. I’d help if I had anything left but my own knife and he might not be eager to repeat that experience.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry Dori. It was a lovely box.” More than once he’d found himself borrowing things out of it along the road – it had seemed bottomless and full of every sort of useful thing a body could ever want or need. There had probably been an entire kit for hair care inside of it and now it was lost. “I have a little pair of silver scissors in my pack if you think you might be able to use those. They’re just little things that I use for mending but they’d probably be better than your knife for hair trimming.”

Dori stood and gave Ori a very stern look that clearly said ‘behave or else’. “Thank you, I’ll go fetch them and tend to the prince. I’m sure his uncle will want to put a few braids in it once I’ve finished, if you’d be so kind as to pass on the word.”

“I’ll do that,” Bilbo agreed as he carefully juggled the bandages and medicine that Oin had given him and looked around for where Thorin had sequestered himself. The king had sat down between two tree roots and had his head tucked down against his check as if he were napping, though it was hard to tell from where Bilbo was standing. He gave Ori a smile which the young dwarf returned halfheartedly before heading off to badger the king into submission.

Thorin didn’t look up as he approached, though Bilbo made no attempt to quiet his steps. It wouldn’t do to startle him since Orcrist was always close to Thorin’s hand and the last thing Bilbo wanted was to end up of the wrong end of the elvish blade because he’d been trying to help. That would be just his luck and then Oin really would have something to fix up on him other than scratched up hands. Sword wounds weren’t on his mental list of things to get done before lunch.

“I brought you a gift,” he said cheerfully as he came up, holding the salve and the bandages up so that Thorin could see them. The baleful look that the king gave both showed that his temper hadn’t improved in the least since Bilbo had woken up to his scowling face.  He silently hoped that it hadn’t set the tone for the rest of the day, but from the looks of things Thorin was determined to stay sunk in his dark mood and that didn’t bode well for Bilbo. “It isn’t nasty medicine so there’s no need to make faces at me. Oin just wanted me to take a look at your neck while he tends to Ori. I wouldn’t argue because I promise you that he’ll be far less gentle than me if you wait for him to do it instead. He may be a doctor but his bedside manners are dreadful.”

The grunt he got seemed to be permission enough to move in closer, So Bilbo settled himself on one of the tree roots and started unscrewing the tin of salve. He wasn’t entirely sure what was in it (medical work had never been one of his strong points even though he’d written a book about it somewhere in his mid-nineties), but it smelled vaguely of lemon and sage so it couldn’t be entirely bad. In fact it smelled quite a bit better than half of the things that he’d been eating lately but he managed to refrain from putting any of it in his mouth. “I’ll need you to pull down your shirt so I can see if you’ve managed to open up your windpipe with all that thrashing about. If you have we might need a bit more than bandages so you’re lucky that I’m handy with a needle and thread. I made most of my own clothes, you know. My father taught me how when I was just a kit because he could sew better than half of the tailors in Hobbiton. He made me my first Sunday vest for going to the apple blossom festival and it was my favorite until I outgrew it. I used it as the inside lining to my yellow one with the buttercups embroidered on it. The entire thing took me a week to do because my eyes kept burning when I’d work on it for more than a few hours.”

Thorin gave him another disgruntled look and then began to pull at the neck of his coat and under tunic once he saw that Bilbo would be perfectly content to sit there and talk if he didn’t comply with the hobbit’s orders. Rather than simply pulling down the neck of his shirt however, which would have no doubt been easiest way to do things, Thorin undid his belt and shrugged out of his coat before pulling his silver blue tunic up over his head and dumping it into Bilbo’s lap.    

“I beg your pardon, I’m being a medic rather than a tailor today, and with all technicality I’m actually a writer who just knows a little bit about both so you can just take this back right now and stick it – oh Thorin…”

The dwarf’s neck was a mangled wreck of black and purple bruises, ringed by sickly shades of yellow and green. Bilbo tentatively reached out and brushed one of his fingers across the darkest part of the discoloration and when he drew his hand back it was sticky with blood. The rope had rubbed hard enough to leave burns and then burn and break the skin while Thorin fought to get to his nephew.

Nausea settled in Bilbo’s stomach and he swallowed down bile. He’d seen the same thing happen to a fox that had gotten caught in a snare trap one summer and the beast had died shortly after from suffocation. No doubt Thorin would have done the same if he’d kept fighting.

“How dense can you be?” Bilbo snapped, nearly dropping the salve as he scooped up a generous handful of it. “Why didn’t you say something sooner!? I’ve known some stubborn dwarves in my life Thorin Oakenshield, but you are and always will be the most thickheaded fool I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across! Anyone else would have enough sense in them to actually mention that they’d nearly killed themselves on a bit of rope, but not you! You had to go off and sulk about it!”

The cream was thick and a fair amount of it ended up on Thorin’s jaw and collarbone as Bilbo did his best to cover every mark that he could get his hands on, ignoring the occasional grunt of discomfort from his unhappy patient. “It couldn’t have hurt any more to go and ask Oin to wrap you up after he was finished! You’re lucky that he remembered that you were doing your best imitation of a landed fish a few hours ago or else you might have had to wait until we got to Beo – well until we got wherever we’re going next. What would have happened if you got an infection? Or a fever? I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me, but you should have at least told Dwalin or Gandalf or _somebody_!”

There were tears building up in his eyes and he blinked them away furiously, too angry to bother with them just yet. _It’s just the stress,_ he told himself and then immediately realized that it was a lie.

It was how close he’d come to losing him again.

“I understand not wanting to look weak. Truly. I’m a hobbit in a company of dwarves and a wizard – the only thing I have to be proud of is how quiet I can be and that I’m easily overlooked in a fight but even I’m not too proud to admit when I need help.” He pressed the end of the bandage against Thorin’s neck to hold it in place while he wound the rest of it up until he could secure it. Having his collar chaffing against the open wounds while they ran had probably been agony and at least the wrappings would provide a bit of protection against any more damage. Getting dirt and loose threads inside the cuts wouldn’t be good. “What would Fili and Kili have done if it had gotten worse, did you even stop to think about that? They’re just boys and they were on the edge of tears because _Fili got his hair cut off_. What if you’d died?” Bilbo wanted to wrap his hands around Thorin’s throat and give him a good hard shake. The only thing that stopped him was that he didn’t want to accidentally undo the bandages he’d just finished applying.

Thorin had slowly slumped down as Bilbo berated him until his shoulders were occupying the same space as his ears.

_Don’t look at his shoulders, you’re mad at him. I don’t care how nice they are._

With a sigh Bilbo sat back and began to wind back up what was left of the wraps. “I’m beginning to think I should have just locked you all in my cellar and not let you come in the first place. Trolls, thieves, bandits, orcs – it’s too dangerous out here for you dwarves to be wandering about like this. So what if you can fight, so can most of the world. Even I know which end of a sword to hold onto and look at me!” He tucked the bandages into his pocket and held out his hands to illustrate. Thorin’s eyes flicked over to him warily, as if he was waiting to be yelled at again.

“I’m a hobbit. We’re hardly the most threatening folk and yet here I am.” _Again_ , he added silently. “If I had been more like my father I would have fed you all and sent you on your way the next morning and not given this whole thing a second thought. But I didn’t because I care about what happens to you! To all of you! So if you aren’t going to take care of yourself for your own sake, please do it for mine and for your nephews. Things are hard enough without having to worry about you too.”

Dragging his freshly repaired sleeve across his face Bilbo sniffed hard to compose himself again. “And that’s all I have to say on the matter. Now will you please tell me what I’ve done to deserve the silent treatment you’ve been giving me?”

For the first time since he’d woken up he was blessed with the king’s crooked smile. It was small and more than a little pained, but it was better than the scowls and grimaces that he’d been wearing. He crooked a finger at Bilbo, who leaned in curiously.

“ _Throat hurts_ ,” Thorin rasped, so softly that he was barely audible.

No wonder he hadn’t been talking to anybody.

“Your throat – oh! _Dwarves!_ I’m finished with the lot of you!” Bilbo leapt to his feet, seized Thorin by both of his ears and glared down at him. “Sometimes I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Now go braid Fili’s hair before I give you another piece of my mind.” Before he could think better of it Bilbo leaned down and pressed a hard kiss between Thorin’s eyes and then stomped off before he could see the king’s reaction.

 _You only live once_ , he told himself. _Usually._

“And how did you find our company’s leader?” Gandalf asked him laughingly as Bilbo came back over.

“Disagreeable,” Bilbo replied instantly as he sat down next to the wizard and shrugged back out of his coat.  

“Hopefully my news will put you in a better frame of mind in that case. I have an acquaintance that I have not seen in a number of years who lives a little ways south and east of where we currently are. If all goes well I think that we should be able to seek refuge with him for a little while and get some much deserved rest.”

“Gandalf, as long as I get a proper nap I don’t really care what we do next. You be in charge for a little while, I’m too tired to do anything else with this lot today. Now if you’d be so kind as to wake me for lunch…”

And with that Bilbo balled up his coat, tucked it under his head, and promptly went back to sleep in the grass with his nose full of the smell of pipe smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! That only took five days longer than I thought it would. Whew.  
> In other news DESOLATION OF SMAUG TRAILER OH MY GOD  
> How can I even...  
> Nope.  
> No.  
> I'll never be able to survive until December.  
> Anyway, please enjoy. Only one more chapter before we get to the porn!


	29. Those Who Followed After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Gore

They lost the trail all at the mountains. Where any other group would have taken the high pass, even with the risk of giants and goblins, their quarry had instead turned north and a few hours later the scent had disappeared completely. Luckily they knew which way to go even without the boot prints or the stink of dwarf and pony to follow. The warg riders turned east and plunged into the deep mountains where no trail had ever or would ever be blazed. No caravan could traverse the steep peaks, nor would adventurers tempt the wrath of the beasts that called the mountain home.

A cavalry of mounted orcs, on the other hand, had nothing to fear. For four days they rode as if the fell beasts of Moria snapped at their heels, until both mount and rider foamed at the mouth from their exertions. They ate anything unfortunate enough to cross their path ad rested only when it had grown too dark for the wargs to travel.

Their leader drove them relentlessly, as if he were possessed by a demon of revenge that pushed him ever further. At night his squad would sleep far from his side least he awaken in a dream-fueled rage and strangle them where they lay. Not out of loyalty did they follow him, but rather out of fear. Any sort of death would be kinder than the one that awaited them at his hands should they fail or betray him.

So they rode.

Some despaired that they would ever find the trail again. The Misty Mountains were vast and the tunnels that ran beneath them were as treacherous as the overland terrain. None dared voice these worries though. They knew better. It was to cries of mingled relief and bloodlust that on the fourth day one of the free running wargs threw back its head and howled - the signal that it had once more pick ed up the scent of dwarf. The hunt was on.

It wasn’t dwarf that they found when they stopped with the sun slipping below the tree line and ash staining the paws of the wargs. After several hours of traveling through a sunken river valley the rider came upon a scene that none of them had expected.

Crows cawed and exploded up into the trees when they dashed into the destroyed camp. Empty-eyed corpses stared up at them from the dirt, though quite a few of those no longer had eyes to stare with. The crows had plucked them out, taking their share of the grizzly feast. The entire clearing reeked of rotting flesh and fat flies crawled in and out of gaping mouths and wounds alike. None of the riders were upset by the bodies, they’d killed enough that the scent of death only made them hungry. Two of the wargs began a tug-of-war with the bloated body of what has once been a hunting dog. Its guts spilled out onto the ground when they ripped it in half and the instantly the crows were back to pick at the pieces.

“Wha’s this?” One of the orcs sneered, swinging down off its scrawny gray warg to poke at the face of a dead Corcur bandit with a goblin sword buried deep in his belly. “Men and goblins? Fightin’ over a prize, we thinks?”

“Prob-ly some trader haul. Dunno where it went though, wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh grub if that’s what it was.”

“Least the dogs’re happy!” Crowed a third, watching as the wargs fought and snapped at each other over what was left of the bodies.

All of them fell silent when their leader doe forward into the middle of the massacre, his meat hook of a hand twisted tightly in to the rough white fur of his mount.

Azog.

“ _There are no merchants,”_ he growled in his mother tongue. Not once had he ever lowered himself to the language of the rats – to dirty his mouth with Common was the worst sort of atrocity. Azog allowed his band to use it simply because they were lower than him and rats could not be expected to understand. He was pure and as such would only speak in the purest of languages. The Black Speech. 

The massive albino orc dismounted with a ‘thump’. His warg turned her head to nip at him but she knew not to draw blood. Azog was the only living being that she would allow to ride her – perhaps they saw a kindred spirit in one another. Two great creatures who refused to know anything but violence and blood. Azog had found her as a pup, half-starved and nearly dead from an elf arrow in her neck.  He had allowed her to eat from the body of the very elf that had shot her and since then she had refused to stray from his side. Any who threatened her master met a swift end at her jaws. She was _Throquuk_ – the one who would devour all and who would carry him to victory.

Only the scent of decay registered on his senses when he inhaled. With a grunt Azog kicked over a body and peered at the ground beneath it as if it would tell him what had happened to spark the conflict. This was indeed an area where goblin and bandit territory overlapped, but the last time he’d crossed the mountains the two species had had an agreement of sorts in place to keep them from going after each other’s throats too often. It wasn’t very surprising to see that something had snapped, but it was a strange place for it. Usually Azog wouldn’t have stopped his hunt for such an annoyance, but that it lay square in the path of his quarry and practically at the back door to Goblin Town was interesting enough to pause for.

 _“Search them!”_ Azog roared and all of his troops scrambled to obey and began to paw through the remains. None of them could have said what they were actually searching for until –

 “I found sumfin!” Cried an orc with a ferocious under bite as he popped out of a bush with a blood-spattered box held in his arms. As quickly as he could without tripping over any of the bodies the orc hauled it over to where Azog stood beside Throquuk and presented the rather ordinary looking chest to his master. Azog looked it over skeptically, but something about the lock caught his eye. It was of good workmanship, they type that would be hard to pick or smash off with the handle of a knife. Not goblin work.

_“Open it.”_

The orc immediately dropped the box and began to smash at the lock with the blade of his knife, which resulted in nothing more than the occasional shower of sparks and muttered curse when the knife slipped and the orc scratched himself with it. Azog waited. He waited for a long while before he finally lost patience with the fool and delivered a sharp kick that sent him flying into the side of one of the wargs. The beast growled and danced away while the orc lay in a groaning pile, clutching at his side and moaning. His fellows backed away as Azog reached down and twisted the lock off with one great wrench of his iron hand. The box was filled with all sorts of useful things – horseshoe nails, three different kinds of hammer, assorted metalworking tools, needles (both for sewing skin and for knitting), six kinds of thread, two pairs of scissors, and a chisel. A tinker box.

Azog laughed as he rose from a crouch, one of the pairs of scissors held loosely between his pale fingers. The dwarves had been through and it seemed that both the bandits and the goblins had seen them come and go.

_“Mount. We ride to pay a visit to the Goblin King and see exactly what he knows about our prey…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to take a look at what our favorite orc is up to...


	30. Sun in the Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Porn, Masturbation, Voyeurism

The clover was soft, fragrant and heavy with hundreds of pink and white flowers that bent gently when Bilbo settled his little basket onto it and then himself next to it. It was a bit hot out, enough so that the hobbit knew he might start to sweat if it weren’t for the breeze that was carrying the buzzing of hundreds of bees to his ears. They zipped over his head and around his bare toes, some pausing to look at him as if to ask exactly what he was doing sitting in the middle of their fields with a picnic basket. They were massive fuzzy things, with yellow stripes that shone like dragon gold and were almost as big as his fist! If they had taken it into their heads they probably could have carried him right away without trying very hard. But Bilbo meant no harm to either their hives or their flowers, so they left him alone once they had decided he wasn’t as interesting as the clover or the cockscomb and hyssop scattered throughout it.

Bilbo waved off one of the oversized insects and settled back onto his elbows with a sigh of utter contentment. Finally he had a bit of time to himself and he planned to enjoy it as completely as he could until he was forced to rejoin the company and their host for dinner. The basket next to him was full of all sorts of good things that had been put together for him when he’d requested a snack and he’d been sent off with a good loaf of crusty bread, a jar of honey, a bottle of sweet olive oil, and a bunch of fat green grapes. Although any other hobbit might have considered that a rather meager snack it felt like everything Bilbo had ever wanted. He dug under the lid of a basket and plucked out one of the grapes. It was tart and juicy on his tongue and so much better than any of the stews or dry cram biscuits that they’d been eating lately that it nearly had him in raptures. If there was a paradise in the world this had to be it.

They had arrived early that morning, after yet another long day and night of walking through the forest and crossing the Great River of the Wilderland. That had been an adventure all of its own – last time they had been able to bypass the river with the help of the eagles and the only place it had given them any trouble was at the foot of the Carrock, which it bordered on both sides. This time they had been forced to find a shallow bit over which they’d be able to cross without losing their packs or being forced to swim too much, which was lucky because neither dwarves nor hobbits are particularly good swimmers and Bilbo sank like a stone. Dwalin was forced to tow him through the deepest bits like a fishing trap and by the time they all managed to get out they were completely soaked through and covered in pinching crayfish. Bombur had happily gathered those up and made them into a muddy-tasting stew for lunch. The next morning brought a great lift in spirits when Gandalf announced that they were close to the home of his acquaintance (who actually wasn’t his acquaintance at all, but rather a friend of a friend since he knew Radagast) and for once Bilbo was very happy to take the back seat and let the wizard work his special brand of magic that involved convincing a very bad-tempered skin changer into letting thirteen dwarves and one hobbit stay in his home while they recovered from their ordeal.

Beorn was an immense bear of a man, which seemed appropriate since that was indeed what he became when he had a mind to. Gandalf had dragged Bilbo along when they first arrived at the gate to his lodge and the burglar had sat quietly next to him while he told their story to their host, trying his best not to doze off right where he sat. The other dwarves wandered over in pairs as Gandalf summoned them until they were all there, the story was told, and Bilbo had completely nodded off with his arms crossed and his head tucked against his chest and missed the whole thing. When he awoke again their host had gone and most of the dwarves had scattered off to investigate the gardens or their quarters or to find a bite to eat. Gandalf still sat next to him, smoking and smiling in a way that showed that he was indeed very pleased with himself.

“I’m afraid you missed quite a good story, Bilbo,” he said when he noticed that the hobbit had jerked awake at last. “If I do say so myself.”

“That’s alright,” Bilbo said as he stretched and yawned. “I’d heard that one already and I think there were only a couple differences this time around.”   

The remainder of the morning had been spent reacquainting himself with Beorn’s oversized lodge and the barns and stables. Most of the land inside the hedge that had grown up to keep out unwanted visitors was covered by gardens in riots of brilliant colors, where Beorn’s bees had buzzed about with the legs fat and heavy with pollen. The other animals were equally unusual in that they all seemed to understand exactly what everyone was saying. The sleek white ponies took up their packs in their teeth and took them away to parts unknown, while several gray dogs played chaperone while the company spread out and explored. Bilbo’s hound in particular had been a very sweet bitch with a white splotch on her nose and ear. She had followed after him wherever he went and made sure he didn’t wander too close to the beehives and risk being stung. When he’d finally assured himself that everything was how it was supposed to be and that all of the dwarves were comfortable (Bofur and Ori were busy talking to the horses who had come up to the fence of the pasture, while the others had either retired for a nap or lunch) he had finally asked the dog if there was a nice place where he could sun himself without being interrupted. It was time for some peace and quiet.

Here he was about an hour later, the late morning sun warm on his face with a basket of treats next to him, up to his elbows in clover and as happy as a hobbit could be.

Well, almost.

It had been ages since he had properly sunned himself. At Bag End when he’d been able to he had often enjoyed lying about on the soft grass that covered the back half of his porch and simply napping in the sun. He’d come back in an hour or two later with a very slight sunburn from his ears to his ankles and then take a cool shower to complete the whole ritual. In the summer it wasn’t odd for the entire Shire to take a midafternoon break from their goings about to simply find a soft patch of ground and lay down for a bit, either to nap or to watch the clouds or butterflies. The tranquil moments of peace helped everyone keep their tempers in check during the hottest months and Bilbo decided he was more than overdue for an hour or three after the stress of dealing with his dwarves for so long without a rest.

With a yawn the hobbit flopped backwards into the clover and indulged in a full body stretch that left him feeling limp and boneless. With no apparent haste he began to undo the buttons on his loose cotton shirt so that it fell to the sides and he could feel the sunshine on his whole torso.

Bliss.

There were no dwarves here. No ponies or hounds. No troublemaking wizards. No orcs or goblins or bandits. No worries, no tension, no temptation.

And speaking of temptation…

At long last Bilbo allowed himself to remember.  Between crawling about underground and running for his life he had barely had a moment to stop and think about – well –

Unbidden the memory of his hands against Thorin’s neck rose, along with the phantom smell of musk and sweat. They made his stomach perform an interesting little cartwheel and he swallowed hard, only remembering after a moment that there was no one there to cast him disapproving looks. For weeks, in fact ever since his revelation that night when his eyes had met Thorin’s across their fire, he had been denying and flat out ignoring his attraction to the dwarven king. _It wasn’t appropriate_ , he’d told himself a hundred times. _It was never meant to be that way,_ a thousand times. _He would never have you_ , just once in the dark. Protector and friend, but never lover.

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t dream about it now, here amongst the bees and the clover, and then maybe he could forget about it a little bit faster and move on. So he dreamed.

The sensation of a rough beard against his lip during that stolen kiss. Knowing that Thorin had watched while he disrobed for his bath in the thieves’ den. His eyes closed, blocking out the flowers and the sun so that he could focus on the warm feeling that was coming to live like stirred coals in his belly. With his teeth gently digging into his lower lip Bilbo settled his hand on his sternum and began to trace little circles against his bare skin. If there was one thing that was lacking during an adventure it was privacy for personal moments like this, so he intended to enjoy it while he could.

Newly-calloused fingertips moved over to one of his nipples and pinched and rubbed it until it pebbled beneath his ministrations. Youth was wasted on the young, he decided. It had been years since  he’d had anything that resembled a sex drive, and while he hadn’t exactly been a monk after he had returned from his adventure it wasn’t as though he’d had a string of nameless lovers either. One or two with whom he had eventually settled into an easy friendship with had satisfied him well enough and as he got on in years and adopted Frodo that need had been pushed down even further. Maybe he just hadn’t known what it was he’d been longing for the whole time.

Well now he did and it was making his blood race and all of his nerves spark quickly to life. His breath came more quickly as his free hand began to creep its way down his belly, tickling and caressing his newly sensitive skin. What would Thorin’s hands feel like, if they had been the ones touching him instead of his own? They would be much larger, hot and rough from years of hard living and sword play. His touches would be confident and completely dominating; as if he knew that everything he laid his hands upon was his and would always be. Unconsciously Bilbo’s own touches became more sure as they mimicked the imagined touches, torturing himself by dragging his blunt nails across his belly before finally – _finally_ – undoing the laces of his pants and plunged his hand down inside to cup himself.

The pace he set was slow, almost leisurely compared to the eagerness that he had begun with. There was no hurry after all. The morning and afternoon stretched before him, hours without complications where he could simply…enjoy. Without any sort of lubrication he was forced to stay gentle, keeping his touches light and more teasing than anything else. His shaft was more than half hard just from his fantasies and as soon as he began to pay it attention it grew to press eagerly against his palm. It had been so long since he’d last had time to indulge like this that he hardly knew what to do with himself, but luckily his erection knew exactly what it wanted. Long dark hair and icy eyes, a voice so deep that it made his toes curl, and –

Immediately he froze. “Oh for the love of all things that grow…” He’d specifically come all the way out here for privacy and had told Gandalf before he left that he didn’t want to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. 

 But was it indeed an emergency? His eyes snapped open and he tilted his head back just enough to be able to see Thorin looking down at him, the color blooming on his cheekbones a stark contrast to the bandage around his throat. In that instant Bilbo decided that no sort of emergency was worth this even if someone was bleeding out on Beorn’s lovely wood floor. A goblin attack would have been preferable.

 _Stop it you ninny,_ he reprimanded himself. _You’re one hundred and thirty one years old – more than old enough to not be embarrassed by things like this. He’s already got an eyeful so it’s pointless to try to act like you were doing something else. Act your age._

If his nerves survived this ordeal he deserved a lot more than honey and grapes. After a deep breath to steel himself Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the king and, without removing his hand from his pants, said what he thought was one of his bravest comments to date.

“At your service.”    

For a long moment Thorin seemed content to simply stare at him, his mouth slightly open and his hands limp at his sides. The king had shed his heavy overcoat and sword alike, and might have seemed practically approachable if it weren’t for the thunderous scowl lines that always bracketed his mouth and between his eyebrows. Those lines were softened by surprise at the moment but Bilbo had little doubt that they’d return full force at any moment. _Might as well enjoy the view while I can._

Thorin made a strangled noise that might have been an attempt to form words or maybe just a noise of outrage that found itself stopped up by his mangled throat. Whatever it was sounded too much like a tea kettle releasing steam for Bilbo not to smile and that just made the dwarf go even redder until his entire face was practically crimson.

“I – Bilbo – what – “ He rasped, apparently lacking anything that might resemble words.

 _I’m not helping him find them either. He’s the one who interrupted me, so he deserves to squirm a bit for it._ Of course licking his bottom lip where he’d been biting it was probably overdoing things a tad but at the moment he didn’t really care for propriety. His erection wasn’t in the least put off and actually seemed even more eager to continue than ever thanks to the sudden appearance of Bilbo’s fantasies. He silently tried to tell it to behave itself but it simply throbbed mightily against his hand and demanded that he continued with his stroking. He ignored it for the moment since that would probably just send Thorin into a complete fit.

“Gandalf!” The dwarf finally managed to bark and then winced and touched his throat since the outburst had probably strained his sore throat. “He told me where to find you,” he whispered in a much lower tone of voice.

 _I am going to fill that wizard’s pillow with bumble bees,_ Bilbo decided.  

“Did he need something?” He prompted.

“No, he told me where I might find you. I didn’t know that I would be – “

“Yes well you did, so you might as well finish what you came here for so I can get back to it.”

Ah, there was the scowl again. “I wanted to thank you. For what you did.”

“I’ll assume you mean for the bit with the goblins and the bandits.”

“And with my nephews.”

“Well they were easy to deal with compared to my Frodo. Are you going to thank me for doctoring your neck while you’re at it?”

“Thank you for doctoring my neck,” Thorin said, managing to sound both half-strangled and cross at the same time.

They both fell silent after that until Bilbo gave his erection a slow, obvious stroke that left him feeling breathless. It wasn’t that he minded Thorin’s eyes on him, but he would have preferred it a bit more if they hadn’t been so accusing. “Was there anything else?”

Thorin was still rather red around his ears but his eyes hadn't turned away yet. Bilbo had practically turned this into a challenge and the dwarf couldn’t back down now that he was here. "Still you surprise me Bilbo Baggins. Are all of your kind so brazen or just you?"

 _Brazen?_ Well that was a new one, though it did seem to apply to the moment rather well even if it was more irritation and stubbornness driving him than actual brazenness. “Oh, not just me I promise, although I suppose nobody would know that since we don’t tend to like strangers much. But I just don’t think that we have as many hang ups as you dwarves. We’re just built for comfortable things.” He looked down at himself and smiled, his thumb rubbing softly against the tip of his cock, which was just barely hidden from sight by the flap of his trousers. “And I’m very comfortable right now.” Between the sun and the clover and the company of the dwarf that he’d defied death to save? Yes, he was comfortable.

Thorin wouldn't look away. He _couldn't_ look away. The exiled king raked at his thoughts, trying to clear them, but their line of conversation only led him right back to one thing that had been dogging his mind for a long while. "You kissed me," came the rasped statement. Usually it would have sounded like an accusation, but not this time. This time it was simply a confused dwarf trying his best to understand. "I wasn't asleep. In the cave," he clarified.

It was the last thing that Bilbo had been expecting. Since Thorin had come upon him he’d expected the king to storm off like he usually did, or say something to make it clear that he didn’t approve of Bilbo’s personal activities. Not that. “Y-you weren’t?” The hobbit stammered, frozen in place by a combination of horror and (belated) embarrassment. Somehow that kiss had been so much more personal than any of this, and that he’d been awake for it? “Thorin, I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean anything by it – “

Raising a hand the dwarf motioned for the burglar to calm himself. "It's alright. I enjoyed it."

On the edge of stumbling into yet another apology and halfway back to his feet already Bilbo had to pause and think that one through for a moment. “You did?”

Thorin only nodded, his eyes finally taking their time as they roamed over the hobbit before moving back to take in the surprised expression.

His heart had migrated into his mouth, but he couldn’t have said when it had done so. All Bilbo knew was that the amount of blood pounding in his ears was making it very hard to hear anything else. Ever so slowly his soft brown eyes rose from where they’d been fixed at the same level as Thorin’s collarbone until they met the dwarf’s, and there they stayed. He knew he must look a mess, with his shirt hanging open and his pants undone, and he was no doubt blushing from his head to his toes, but somehow he couldn’t find it in him to care just yet.

“And?”

The king was jerked out of his daze and he breathed in as if he had forgotten how to for a moment. "I would not be disinclined to try it again." He admitted.

This had to be a dream. Any second now one of them was going to disappear or be swallowed up by shadows and Bilbo was going to wake up flat on his back and know that none of it could ever come true because kings and burglars never had happy endings outside of story books. Sliding back into the clover (since his knees had chosen that moment to become jelly) Bilbo chewed hard on his bottom lip. _Just this once,_ whispered a voice. _Just to make one happy memory. Please._

“I don’t suppose you’d want to try it now?” He whispered.

The quiet response drew Thorin in. The dwarf lowered himself carefully, mindful of his injuries, until he was crouching as closely as possible until he was practically hovering over the burglar. There he could smell not just the musky scent of arousal coming off Bilbo, but the ever present hint of flowers and earth that was warm and reassuring.

"I insist on it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I had to run to Veskasa halfway through on this one because the two of us write a much better dynamic than I can alone, so you can thank her for this not taking me two extra weeks because I'm terrible with intimate interaction. 
> 
> AND NOW ON WITH THE SHOW!


	31. When I Saw You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Porn, handjobs

In story books spells were broken by true love’s kiss. Passion was instantly ignited into a raging inferno that consumed the lovers body and soul. Wishes were made on such kisses.

Such lightning didn’t strike during this kiss, but one wish was made – a wish for more. Just a little more for just a little longer.

It started slowly, as neither of them quite knew what to do now that they were face to face. Their lips hovered inches apart, breathes mingling as each waited for the other to move first. When neither made a move Bilbo couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Never once had he been as cautious about something as simple as a kiss.

“Look at us, like a pair of tweens who aren’t sure what to do with themselves.”

With that he closed the distance, leaning on his hands to keep his balance, until their foreheads touched. “Hello there.”

Thorin's mouth opened as if he intended to shoot down the implication that he didn't know what he was doing, but Bilbo's forehead meeting his own silenced him. The king's expression melted to something unguarded and instantly endearing. Years fell away as his expression softened.

"Good morning." Tilting his head the tips of their noses brushed in an intimate gesture. It was repeated and their breaths mingled as they both sighed. "You still look very flushed, Master Hobbit."

“I’m not the only one who is a bit on the red side. You, your highness, are blushing as well as any May Day queen.” A hand came up and gently ran along the curve of one of Thorin’s cheeks, feeling the warmth there.  The dwarf started to draw back but the touch stopped him. There was uncertainty in his eyes, as if he truly didn't know how to continue but he did lean forward to brush their lips awkwardly, no doubt trying to regain control of the moment. Neither of them had ever learned to let others take control, and while Bilbo might not have been raised to be a king he had been taught how to properly run an estate of some standing. The lord of Bag End manor and the exiled king of Erebor had finally reached a point where one would have to back down.

The instant their lips brushed Bilbo forgot about everything. He forgot about the journey, the dragon, his task. He forgot about the sun on his face and the fact that his pants were still open and that anyone could come along and catch them. He even forgot how to breathe for a minute. All he knew was that Thorin was properly awake this time and that he was being kissed. The soft press of their lips was hesitant at first until Bilbo remembered that he wasn’t just supposed to sit there like a bump on a log. A slight tilt of his head brought them more closely together until he could properly press his mouth to Thorin’s, first in the middle and then at each corner. Feeling the way his mustache and beard tickled and tasting the unique flavor that he was coming to learn was ‘Thorin’ - rich and a little sweet from the medicinal tea that Dori had been forcing on him since they had arrived early that morning.

 _I should be gentle_ , he reminded himself. The king was hardly in top form and this kiss could end sooner than desired if he wasn’t careful with his hands. Ever so slowly he raised them and cradled Thorin’s face between his palms, making sure not to brush the bandages.

The hobbit was proving himself very bold and Thorin wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. The kisses were careful, but there was a wanting behind them that the dwarf could not deny wanting to satisfy. When those hands came up the larger male pressed back into the kiss with a renewed confidence, making a small noise against Bilbo's lips.

A bee zipped by, paused for a minute to see what was going on, and then lost interest and went merrily on its way again with absolutely no interest in the antics going on in the flower fields. Neither Bilbo nor Thorin noticed it, too wrapped up in each other to pay any mind to much else. Bilbo swallowed the noise and returned it with one of his own – a soft breathy moan that he hadn’t intended to release at all, but really, could he be blamed? Already his lips were ablaze with sensitivity from the rasp of Thorin’s beard and he had a feeling that they were going to be red and flushed for hours afterwards. Taking his cue from Thorin’s eagerness he licked the dwarf’s lower lip and then sucked it between his teeth so that he could softly bite down on it. 

Thorin jerked back when Bilbo worried his lower lip between his teeth, sucking in a quick breath. He tried to protest but was silenced again when the kiss was deepened. It was his turn to moan, letting the burglar keep his moment of triumph before fighting back the adventurous tongue to map out Bilbo's mouth for himself. As the kiss was progressing the dwarf was situating himself over the other, using the hand that wasn't supporting his weight to tangle in the honey curls and keep Bilbo's head turned as he liked it.

The tight hand in his hair was making his bones melt until he was practically limp and Bilbo had to quickly take his hands from Thorin’s face and ball them in the front of his loose blue shirt to keep himself from falling forward and completely embarrassing himself. It wasn’t as though he was unpracticed after all, but this – this was so much more than anything he’d ever dreamed of. Maybe it wasn’t an exceptional kiss and stories would most definitely not be written about it, but to him it felt like the more spectacular kiss that had ever been given in the world. Thorin’s tongue was hot and wet in his mouth and sucked on it eagerly, goose bumps rising all up and down his arms despite the sunshine. Something had awoken when their lips had brushed and now the fire was building. As much as they both seemed to want to continue the kiss Thorin had to break it, reluctantly removing his fingers from the soft hair and instead holding Bilbo still at the hips as he freed himself from the kiss. The dwarf was panting, his face still flushed as his eyes raked down over the hobbit's form. His eyes landed on the open pants and the leaking head of Bilbo's erection visible from his new vantage point.

"Bilbo…May I?" He lifted one of his hands from Bilbo’s hips and brought it up to trace the delicate flesh just under his navel.

Until then Bilbo had nearly forgotten that he’s been engaged in other activities before Thorin came along and filled his head with golden bubbles. He hiccuped and felt heat wash over his face until he was as red as the cockscomb flowers around them. Surely he couldn’t mean to…? Mesmerized, Bilbo watched Thorin’s rough fingers as they stroked his belly, incapable of even blinking lest he miss a single motion. Desire blasted through his veins until everything grew a little fuzzy around the edges and every inch of his being was focused on that one hand. He shouldn’t say yes. The previously stolen kisses had been greedy and one freely given should have been enough. Yet it wasn’t and he should have known that he would never be.

Somehow he managed to rally himself enough to give a short, sharp nod.

The nod was permission enough and the exiled king leaned down to seal their lips together again. Despite his injuries Thorin was hovering over the hobbit, encouraging the heated kiss as the hand on Bilbo's belly drifted down and he touched the soft tip. A rough finger pressed against his slit, momentarily blocking it so precum couldn't escape. Pressing their foreheads together again the kiss was stopped and the larger male looked down between them, staring at the arousal between them as his fingers teased at the sensitive head.

“I-I’m not made of glass,” Bilbo whispered before leaning back onto his elbows so that he could see without getting in the way. 

With a huff Thorin sat up to better situate himself. His knees were nestled on either side of Bilbo's legs as he jerked the other's trousers down further to fully expose him. Sitting up as he was it was easier to see as the hard cock stood full and wanting under their piercing gazes. Taking in the burglar's words Thorin wrapped thick fingers around the shaft and squeezed lightly before he started to stroke slowly, trying to get a feel for what made Bilbo squirm.

It was so much so fast that Bilbo could hardly keep up now. When Thorin straddled his legs he managed a soft squeak before the dwarf had seized his previously ignored erection in one hard hand. The intense pleasure was so great that his hips thrust helplessly upwards and the rest of him fell back into the cover, where he hit his head hard enough on the ground that he saw stars for a moment.

"Careful." The clover was only so soft under them and though the hit hadn't looked hard Thorin stopped his stroking to roll his thumb over the flushed head and press against the slit again. His other hand pressed against the smaller's chest, intent on holding him still before he continued. "I want you to remember this." His grip tightened again and he pulled at the hard cock at a quick pace.

As if he could ever forget. This moment was as inscribed on him as words on a page that would never be drawn over or erased, simply laid bare for all to see. Bilbo Baggins was a fool who had fallen for a dwarf and now there was no hope for him at all.

That dwarf, however, clearly had no idea what he was doing.

“Stop, T-Thorin, stop! It’s too rough!” Bilbo gasped, seizing Thorin’s wrists in an attempt to slow his pace. Perhaps he wasn’t made of glass but that didn’t mean that such indelicate treatment wouldn’t leave him sore and aching after the fact. “You’ll have me limping in minutes if you keep that up.”

Immediately the hold was released and Thorin jerked back as if burned. "I'm sorry," he breathed, looking more worried about hurting the hobbit than upset about having to stop. He should have known better and floundered for what to do now. Before he had to even ask, however, he spotted the basket and leaned over to drag it closer and dig through the contents.

"I hope you didn't need this." The olive oil was produced and Thorin was popping it open and covering his palm before the hobbit could protest. When his fingers were slick he spread the substance over the burglar's erection, then dumped another generous amount over his palm and tossed the bottle aside to return to his work. With the addition of oil there was no harsh friction, just a sweet glide and tight pressure as his hand circled back around the hardened prick.

“It was just for – ahn!” For lack of anything else to do with them Bilbo shoved his hands into his own hair and pulled hard on it, trying desperately not to spill then and there. Hobbits weren’t exactly known for their stamina and he’d set himself up for a leisurely session. This was the exact opposite. This was hard. It was fast and slippery and messy and he squeezed his eyes shut as they began to water from the combined pain and pleasure. “Oh, oh sweet – you can’t – “ His heels worked frantically in the clover, trying to find some sort of purchase to help him push closer.

Settling his weight on Bilbo's legs Thorin returned his hand to the other's chest and held him still as he worked the smaller male to a frenzy. That it was him making the hobbit squirm and moan was enough to drive the dwarf to press on. He licked his lower lip and hummed his approval at the noises Bilbo was letting go, encouraging it to continue.

What had begun as a morning of simple pleasures and stolen moments had turned into a firestorm. With Thorin’s weight heavy on his legs Bilbo found himself well and truly trapped. Even if he had wanted to escape he wouldn’t have been able to shift the dwarf enough to get free. His arms were weak, his knees going numb, and his tongue felt far too large for his mouth. All he could manage were strangled moans of ecstasy as he pulled at his curls and finally stuffed the side of his hand into his mouth to stifle his cries. This was too real to be a dream, too much and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stand it before he flew apart at the seams.

"That's it…" There was no relief from the pressure, not with Bilbo looking so beautiful under him. "I want to hear you." The hand on the hobbit's chest moved and he pushed Bilbo's arm up above his head, pinning his wrist so he couldn't stifle those moans and cries as the tension rose to its peak.

There were teeth marks in his hand and precum seeping from his tip and all Bilbo could do was whimper as his spine arched and the clover began to stain his open shirt as he writhed. He was trapped. Stretched out like an offering with Thorin’s hand still wrapped around his cock. It felt so different than anything he had ever known, never before had he been so well and truly dominated. It was wrong, and yet as he tugged helplessly at the hand that held his wrists above his head he realized that nothing had ever felt so right.

“Thoirin, I-stop, I’m going to – “

"Isn't this what you wanted?" The dwarf did slow his pace, but he didn't stop. He just wanted to see the hobbit cum, expecting it to be a grand display. "Do you really want me to stop?"

No, no he didn’t. In fact stopping was the last thing he wanted right now, but he also hadn’t expected the king to want to dirty himself at the end. The firm grip and burning hot look that Thorin was giving him made Bilbo gulp and shake his head frantically. “No, please don’t stop. Please.”

The stroking increased in pace again at the admittance, Thorin breathing steadily as the hobbit lost control. "I won't. Not until you beg." He promised.

Whether the statement was a promise or a threat was unclear, but whichever it was it acted like lighting the fuse on a firework. Bilbo moaned helplessly as he began to shake, pleasure arcing through his veins until he was as tense as a bowstring. All it took was looking up at Thorin through his eyelashes and seeing those cold blue eyes looking back at him to make him snap.

With a gasp Bilbo’s entire body tensed as he tried to curl in on himself, pulling against the weight on his thighs and wrists as he came. 

There wasn't a chance of the dwarf letting Bilbo go as he came and he only groaned at the sight. He kept pumping the hobbit through his orgasm, never blinking so he wouldn't miss a single moment of the wonderful expressions or the delicious view his position gave.

It didn’t take long until Bilbo became too overstimulated to stand any more of the hard strokes, his body sagging against Thorin’s hold as all of the tension drained out of him and left him limp and hypersensitive. “That’s enough,” he whispered roughly before clearing his throat. “Please, you can stop now.”

Thorin didn't stop right away, just gradually slowed his pace until his hand was still and only a callused thumb was stroking the head. The entire mess was smeared around, warm and sticky over Bilbo's belly and his hand before Thorin leaned down and brushed their noses together. "That was very good." Their breath mingled and he tried not to chuckle in the aftermath. "Come to my room at dusk Bilbo Baggins." It was a simple command, filled with promise, before Thorin's weight disappeared and he was heading back towards the lodge with a rather stiff and uncomfortable looking gait.

All Bilbo could do was lie in the clover for a long time after that, watching the clouds and bees goes by and trying to figure out exactly where he’d left his sanity. Probably in the same place that he’d left the rest of the contents of his brain he mused, since his logic and sense of self-preservation seemed to have gone missing as well. Maybe he’d lost them back at Beorn’s home, since their lack was the only explanation he could come up with for what had just happened. A _sensible_ hobbit wouldn’t have gotten caught during such an indelicate moment. A _sensible_ hobbit wouldn’t have suggested another kiss. A _sensible_ hobbit wouldn’t have acted like a rabbit in mating season the moment their love wandered along. And a _sensible_ hobbit wouldn’t be considering doing it all over again!

Now he was left here feeling more than a little debauched with a rock digging into his hip and his spendings drying on his belly while he lay about like a lack wit.

“Well,” he said finally, more for his own benefit than anything else. “It’s probably best this didn’t happen the first time around. I doubt I would have survived the experience.” With that he sat up and reached for his picnic basket and a bit of lunch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Veskasa for helping me out with this one and for editing it since my food poison addled brain missed more than a little.  
> As for the next chapter - the porn continues! Expect it to both be and take a little bit longer to write since I'll be doing dual points of view and I want to try to cram all of the porn into it. You may have noticed that I'm not exactly the briefest writer in the world...  
> Anyway, enjoy!


	32. Flesh of my Flesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Porn, Smut, Blow jobs, Smutty Nonsense

He wasn’t going to come.

Thorin bit down on the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t grind his teeth together as he paced, occasionally shooting maddened glances at the closed door. Had he overstepped himself somehow in telling Bilbo to come to his room? After all, as had been pointed out to him on more than one occasion, he wasn’t the king of the halflings and had little to no say in what they did.  Maybe he hadn’t been specific enough as to the when of it? Dinner had come and gone and the company had mostly retired to the back porch for a smoke, their bellies full of cornbread with thick honey butter, mushrooms with sage and breadcrumbs, and fresh berries swimming in cream. It had been a meal fit for a king for all that it had been prepared by dogs, though there had been no sign of their host during it.

Afterwards he had made his excuses after a few minutes, saying that his throat pained him too much to join in the session, and had given Bilbo what he’d thought to be a telling look. From the way his burglar’s eyes had widened as he choked on his pipe smoke Thorin had figured that he’d been properly understood.

Apparently not.

Unused to having his commands disobeyed Thorin had begun to pace after the first ten minutes without a knock. Thirty found him at the window, looking out into the dark and worrying that he had somehow managed to insult Bilbo. Forty had him back to pacing and cursing himself for being a fool and thinking that the blasted hobbit would do anything he was told. No doubt he was still out with the others and laughing to himself about the way he’d tied their leader up in knots and left him wanting.

And by Aulë did he want. Coming upon Bilbo earlier that morning had been a shock, but not nearly as much as the undiluted craving that had shot through him like water from a geyser. When those soft brown eyes had turned up to him with more than a little irritation at being interrupted reflected in them he had nearly been lost for words and had tripped over his tongue like a dwarf half his age. It hadn’t been his finest moment, nor had been what followed. Even as he had made his way back across the grass, his throat throbbing from the noises that had escaped him during their kiss and his fingers sticky with olive oil and cum, he had realized that he had all but disgraced himself with his lack of finesse. It didn’t matter that Bilbo had seemed to enjoy it based on the noises he’d been making. For goodness sake, he’d all but forced himself on the hobbit towards the end, pinning him to the ground and using his superior strength and weight to hold him immobile. It had been exciting.

Now an hour into his wait his cock still pressed eagerly up against the front of his pants, its enthusiasm undimmed by the unexpected wait. Thorin had been ready to tumble the hobbit right then and there in the grass, to rip his soft pants the rest of the way off and fuck that sleepy, satisfied look right off of his face.

Somehow he’d managed to restrain himself, though it had been a close thing. Only by the barest of threads had he been able to hold onto his self-control and then only a long wait by the horse pastures in the fresh air had been enough to keep him from embarrassing himself in front of the rest of the dwarves with his well-bitten lips and red face. It was just pure luck that his loose tunic was long enough to cover the front of his pants; otherwise he never would have been able to show his face at dinner. Dwalin never would have let him live it down.

A tentative knock at the closed door jerked him from his self-depreciating thoughts and in a moment he was across the room and yanking open the overlarge door with such force that it nearly bounced off of the wall before he caught hold of the edge again.

Bilbo stood in the doorway, dressed in a freshly laundered shirt with a green vest and dark brown pants (different ones than he’d been wearing that morning). His hand was raised as if to knock again but he took a step backwards when he saw the scowl that was gracing Thorin’s face.

“You’re late.”

“You never specific a time other than ‘dusk’, so I can’t be late. In fact I could have shown up at dusk tomorrow and still been on time.” With a quick look in either direction Bilbo ducked under the arm Thorin was using to hold the door open and let himself inside. The rest of the dwarves had been made up beds in the main hall (Bilbo had a little nest of blankets and soft hay in the corner) and only Thorin and Gandalf had been given rooms of their own thanks to their status. Beorn’s home clearly hadn’t been built with guests in mind because Thorin’s room smelled as though it was usually used to store straw and Gandalf’s had had barrels full of ale and mead stacked against two of the walls. The wizard hadn’t complained.

“Besides,” Bilbo continued as he looked at the sizeable room with its high windows and a bed in the corner big enough for a giant, “it’s not entirely my fault that I’m behind your schedule. Gloin started telling stories about Gimli and then had to show me every painting of his wife he keeps in his front pocket. I was trapped by my own good manners.”

Most of Thorin’s irritation was rendered null by that and he felt a little bit foolish for worrying himself stupid for the last hour. He _hadn’t_ specific a time for Bilbo to visit him and it probably would have looked suspicious if the hobbit had excused himself immediately after Thorin had left.

Naturally now that he was here Thorin found himself at a loss for what to do. Now that the moment was here, now that the hobbit was in his room and well within his grasp Thorin was back to his uncertainty. Were hobbits the same as dwarves, would Bilbo want to just jump right into bed and get started? Not that the exiled king wanted this to go by so quickly; Thorin wanted to take his time with this, to explore and find out just what Bilbo liked and completely dominate the burglar's senses. Rather than make himself look even more impatient by opening his mouth again he pushed the door shut and got up on his toes to throw the heavy bolt. There wouldn’t be any interruptions or distractions tonight if he had anything to say about it.

"I trust you are well aware of why I asked you here?" Unfinished business. Curiosity. Desire. If Bilbo didn't want it he wouldn't have come, but after his behavior earlier it was better to keep this slow. For a long moment he received no answer except a continuous view of the back of Bilbo’s vest. The hobbit hadn’t turned to face him since he’d entered the room even though he must have heard the door shut behind him and _known_ that they were alone now. He seemed to be thinking, one of those hobbit-like traits that always took far too long in Thorin’s mind.

“Yes, I think so.” Finally he turned around. There was no trace of a blush or hesitation this time, just a sort of gravity that belied his relatively young age. Then again, hobbits were considered adults in their thirties so perhaps they just matured differently. “I’m still deciding whether I want it or not though.”

This wasn't a spur of the moment thing anymore. This was controlled and both of them had the time to think. Bilbo had the time to change his mind. That thought had the dwarf drawing in a breath to calm himself before he closed the distance between them. He wasn't approaching with an air of threat or even trying to exert authority over the hobbit - using power and brute force would only drive Bilbo to be defensive and then they'd never get anywhere. Instead he approached as an equal, throwing a tight leash around his desire as he stood before the source on even ground. He was a king without a crown and that made him…no one. Just an ordinary dwarf who stood before a rather extraordinary hobbit. 

When he looked at Bilbo it was with a veiled longing, desperately wanting to raise his hands to touch again, but this time willing to wait for the right moment to ask. "Would you really come here without knowing?" This wasn't the same as the first night in Bag End when he'd presented Bilbo with a contact and a proposition. This wasn't possibly signing his life away, but still it seemed to be weighed down on his burglar as if it had the same stakes.

“No.” It was barely a whisper but it seemed to echo in the room. “I just…”

Thorin had to lean down to properly hear his companion. He couldn't do this, not unless there were no doubts. "I will not force you, Bilbo Baggins, I wouldn't even consider it. I will not lie to you either." The dwarf's eyes burned now, much as they had earlier. "Earlier when I found you, as sloppy as we were, it was breathtaking. I wanted, and I still want, everything you have to offer."

That seemed to startle Bilbo a little bit. “And if I can’t give you everything?”

"I know what 'stop' and 'no' mean. I will not take what you do not offer." Thorin's stubborn streak stood proud outside of the bedroom, his very determination to continue his quest the proof. Intimate situations like these were different. He had taken a few lovers since they were driven from Erebor, but they had been few and far in between. During the times where he’d had someone to turn to in the dark he had done his best to be attentive to their needs. The loyalty and trust that developed between lovers and his people as a whole were especially important now that they were broken and scattered. Even though Bilbo wasn’t a dwarf and hadn’t suffered the same sort of hardships Thorin refused to descend to his baser instincts and forget         that he should count himself as lucky that Bilbo had shown up at all.

Bilbo ‘s smile was bittersweet. “That wasn’t really what I meant, but I suppose it’ll do. Now, ahem,” he reached out and gently fingered the hem of Thorin’s tunic, “do you know what it is exactly you want from me, Thorin Oakenshield? More specifically than ‘everything’, that is.” As quickly as it had appeared the melancholy vanished to be replaced with the smallest spark of teasing.

Once again Thorin was not prepared for such a response and the first hints of red touched his ears in his embarrassment. Still, Bilbo's hands were on him and this was permission enough to touch. The dwarf's fingers sunk into short hair, combing through as fingertips massaged over the hobbit's scalp. It was an intimate gesture amongst dwarves to touch another's hair, but this was the one thing that Bilbo hadn't seemed to mind and the king just couldn't help himself.

"I want you bare and on that bed for starters."

Rather than stripping as commanded, Bilbo tilted his head back into Thorin’s questing hands and groaned softly in pleasure at the feeling of blunt nails scraping across his head and the nape of his neck where it was covered by his curls. Deft hands lifted up the edge of Thorin’s shirt until he could trace the bare skin above the waistband of his trousers.

“I could say the same, your majesty.”

"Then we're wasting time." Those hands moved to Bilbo's waist and a smirk coupled with a warning of 'I'm going to lift you' were all the hobbit was given before he was hoisted off the floor. It was a short distance to the bed, but it was also pretty high off the floor for them and the dwarf didn't give a second thought to setting his companion up on top. To make up for the handling he stripped off his tunic to give Bilbo a proper look at what his hands had been questing for. "We have a lot of space up there to make use of."

“There’s plenty of time to waste when we have all night,” Bilbo replied mulishly from on top of the bed, clearly not at all enamored with his quick trip to the top of the exceedingly high bed. His protests trailed off when Thorin pulled off his shirt, his eyes going bright with greed and desire as they followed the line of thick hair from the king’s chest all the way down to where it disappeared under the top of his pants. “Or I suppose we could go a little faster, alright.” He leaned down and offered Thorin a hand up.

The nervousness that had been curling in his belly vanished and Thorin took the offered hand so that he could take his place next to Bilbo on the bed. Though bare-chested his boots hadn't been discarded and as he returned to touching the hobbit's hair and teasing the tips of his ears he showed no desire to continue with his disrobing. "I will explore every _inch_ of you Bilbo Baggins before this night is done."

“T-That sounds wonderf – oh yes, please keep doing that…”Bilbo shivered and sagged into Thorin’s lap as his ears were petted, going completely pliant.

Thorin couldn’t help but feel very pleased with himself. "Let’s get you out of these clothes. You’ll be more comfortable." With a reaction like that Thorin didn't want to let up on his touches for even a moment. One hand did have to drop to tug at the fabric of Bilbo's shirt before he found a button of his vest and started undoing them. In return he got a groan of appreciation and Bilbo turned his head so that Thorin could have better access to the ear he was playing with. This brought him to eye level with the dwarf’s hair-covered sternum.

“May I?” The words echoed the ones Thorin has spoken earlier that day, waiting for the go ahead to touch.

"Get this vest and shirt off and you may." The buttons were being stubborn, but Thorin wasn't frustrated enough to ruin Bilbo's new clothes. Yet. "Why did you dress up like this?" Not that he didn’t appreciate the effort the vest just seemed a bit like overkill to him, more of something that one would wear to an outing rather than a midnight rendezvous. Maybe hobbits just liked dressing up to impress their lovers? The idea was a pleasing one, he had to admit.

“Let me do that, you have fat fingers.” Bilbo shooed Thorin’s hands away and undid the golden buttons as quickly as he could. “I wanted to look nice and I told you that I hadn’t made up my mind yet. Did you expect me to show up completely naked?” He shrugged out of the vest and tossed it down to the foot of the bed so that it wouldn’t get rumpled should they roll on it.

"No." With the vest out of the way the dwarf was free to tug away the soft white shirt as well, baring Bilbo’s chest and belly at last. It was so different, but still the thick fingers fell to the silky flesh and traced over the collarbone before moving down. It was an examination that had Thorin's brows drawing together as he curled his fingers around the other's chest under his arms, rubbing his thumbs in careful circles. As if to contrast the rough and overeager touches the two of them had indulged in earlier, each of these were slow and each carefully considered before it was carried out. Bilbo shivered as Thorin’s hands moved across his smooth, soft skin before twining his own fingers in the dwarf’s thick chest hair and giving it a light pull as if to draw him closer.

Thorin grunted with the pull before his fingers sought and pinched the hobbit's nipples. "Don't pull it out." He warned quietly. "It'd be a pain to re-grow."

“Ouch! Not so hard, those are sensitive. You dwarves may have been created from stone but I can’t say the same for – Thorin…” Bilbo paused, his fingers still firmly tangled. He leaned in close enough that Thorin could smell the soap he must have bathed with. “Are those _tattoos?_ ”

"Hm?" The king had to look down and tried to follow where Bilbo was looking. "Yes. I have many." Removing his hands he could push his tangled hair back over his shoulders and show off the intricate ink designs that ran down his shoulders and chest. Most of them were obscured by his thick body hair, but the lines of them were more obvious up close. "Once this quest is over I intend to get more."

“More? How did you even get these done with this pelt of yours?” Bilbo did his best to part the dark curls on Thorin’s chest to expose the swirling lines and geometric patterns, but it was a mostly futile effort that had the hobbit blowing air out of his nose in aggravation.

"I had those put on when I was young. The hair was removed for the process and it grew back. Eventually," he added, remembering how badly his chest had itched during the first few weeks afterwards.

It was cute watching the way Bilbo tried to get a good look at the markings. A perfect distraction as Thorin set his hand against the unguarded ass and squeezed. "Tattoos and piercings are very common amongst us, Bilbo Baggins. You do not have any sort of similar practices in the Shire?"

“Of course we don’t. Anyone with such things would be looked upon as a complete scoundrel. Not that I wasn’t already mind you, but I wasn’t about to go and look like – oi!” He left of trying to figure out it the lines made up a larger picture and twisted around to grab Thorin’s wrists. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

"You seemed happily distracted." Not only had the king dared once, but when his hands weren't beaten off he squeezed again. "I must admit I'm enjoying what I see so far."

“I think you mean ‘what you feel’,” the hobbit grumbled, shifting so that he was slightly more upright. A harsh blush had appeared on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears and once again he seemed unable to look directly at Thorin. 

"Yours ears are delightful." Thorin actually found the nerve to lean down and try to latch his teeth onto one of the sensitive tips, something he’d never tried before or even imagined that he would ever want to try. The reaction he got from it made his tentative foray completely worthwhile.

“They most certainly are n– oh! Oh g-goodness gracious, Thorin!” Instantly Bilbo went rigid, as if steel had been shot into his spine and then removed the moment later. It was clear that he was doing his best to maintain some sort of illusion of control over himself, but it was crumbling like a house of sand.

When the hobbit shifted his weight forward and pressed just right against his confined erection Thorin groaned and pressed the other closer. "I want to see all of you before we continue."

For some reason his words seemed to have startling effect on Bilbo. With a soft cry the hobbit leaned over and buried his face against Thorin’s shoulder, his shoulders shaking and both hands pressing down hard between his still-clothed legs.

"Bilbo?" Thorin stopped and tried to get the hobbit to sit up again. "After what we did in that field there's nothing for you to be embarrassed about."

"You can't _talk_ like that," Bilbo said breathily as he sat up, the flush having spread all across his face and down his neck. "Not when you're playing with my ears. At this rate I won't have any clean pants left..."

Already the hobbit was being picked up and laid on his back. "Then we'd better get you out of them." Fingers tucked in at the waistband of Bilbo's trousers, tugging once before opening them. He pressed against the noticeable bulge unapologetically in the process, smirking.

Bilbo squeaked and wriggled, trying to keep Thorin's hands out of his pants. "Now stop that, I just - even I can't go again so soon, just let me _breathe_ for a moment!"

"Wait you-"

Well that was a touch embarrassing.

Bilbo had already cum once and he hadn't even _noticed_ it! Still, it didn't stop the dwarf from getting the hobbit out of the rest of his clothes, swallowing thickly when he saw the mess that had been smeared across Bilbo’s soft lower belly. "I hadn't realized you'd already finished…"

Bilbo looked down at himself and rubbed his hipbone, looking more than a little bashful. “Well I wouldn’t say finished. That was just one and I imagine I’ll have a few more if you keep at it like that for the next little while.” Soft fingertips trailed up the underside of his shaft, gently caressing the still-hard flesh to milk himself through the mild aftershocks. “I’ll last a little bit longer next time, I promise.”

"That quickly?" Dwarves tended to last a long while, drawing out the pleasure to a single, mind-numbing peak. "How many will you last through?" Thorin's eyes were following the little motions as Bilbo touched himself, but his own hands moved down past the hobbit’s hips to massage just above his knees.

“Ah, I’m not sure. When I was younger – although I suppose that wasn’t that long ago now that I think about it – I think my record was somewhere around twelve. That was when I was courting Ruby Brambles and she was…well. You know.” Bilbo drew his legs up slightly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure about Thorin’s grip on his legs. Considering the way the dwarf had held him down earlier that was understandable.

Thorin tried to imagine the aftermath of twelve orgasms. The hobbit beneath him would be a mess, absolutely lost in his haze and utterly satisfied after such a session. Inappropriate or not the very image had the dwarf's face heating up and his own cock throbbing, reminding him that it had not received any special attention yet.

"That would explain the large families I passed." Seeing the shift Thorin moved to touch only one leg at a time. He started at the knee, tickling behind it before he moved down to examine the large, hairy feet. When he pressed against the sole his curiosity was satisfied; the dwarf couldn't understand how hobbits could walk about bare-foot and with skin like leather on the bottom of the foot it was understandable. "Your feet are not hardened at birth are they?"

“N-no, they aren’t. I suppose it just comes of not wearing shoes. Thorin, do you think you could,” he gave his foot a little tug to pull it from the dwarf’s curious grip, “there. They aren’t as well kept as I’d like after all of that walking.”

"They look fine to me." Leaning over the other again Thorin pressed his thumbs against the inside of Bilbo's thighs and rubbed against the skin. When he pushed his weight against them he meant to part his companion's legs, examining the mess that had been made.

Bilbo gasped and made a sputtering noise that managed to sound both indignant and anticipatory at the same time. His small hands dove into Thorin’s hair and tugged fretfully. “You shouldn’t – stop looking at me like that! I thought that you wanted to have sex, not look me over like a pig at market.”

"I’m not – ah," those hands were quickly dislodged from his hair and Thorin once again pinned the hobbit beneath him. His hips were pressed firmly against his companions and he ground down against him once, breathing in deeply to keep control of himself. "I told you I would see every inch of you before we began. Didn't you want the same?"

The hobbit’s pupils dilated until only the thinnest rim of copper was visible around the edges. “Yes,” he whispered before biting down on his bottom lip and pulling at the hands around his wrists. Thorin fit perfectly in the soft cradle of Bilbo’s bare thighs and his pants rubbed him properly pink everywhere they touched.

"Then listen carefully. I'm going to sit up and you will have to finish undressing me. Once you've had your fill you're going to turn over and let me finish my look." Thorin didn't feel like he needed to wait for a confirmation of understanding, rolling his hips one more time before he sat up and raised his arms so they were out of the way. Since he wasn’t looking any more he missed the flash of irritation that crossed Bilbo’s face. Maybe if he had noticed he might have treaded a bit more carefully, but the warning sign went by unheeded.

In a whisper of flesh against rough homespun sheets Bilbo righted himself and rubbed his wrist. “I will, but you aren’t to hold me down again unless I ask you to. I’ve had quite enough of that for one day.”

It wasn’t a request.

"Very well." The exiled king could understand not wanting to be held down and had to remind himself he'd already been pushing his luck earlier that day. In the field he'd wanted to keep Bilbo from thrashing so he wouldn't hurt himself, but here there was no reason to fear accidental damage unless one of them fell off the bed.

“I’m glad we understand each other.” All of the stuttering and shy glances were gone now as Bilbo settled himself on his knees in front of Thorin and began to undo the laces that tied his pants shut. They were tighter than usual thanks to the erection that was tenting the front, but Bilbo’s nimble fingers quickly got the knots undone and then pulled back the overlapping covers until the king’s cock was exposed to the warm air. “There we are,” Bilbo said, with something akin to admiration in his voice.

The rush of air that escaped Thorin was in pleasant relief as he was finally freed. His cock was thick, swollen in his want and sensitive with how long it had gone ignored. "Much better. Now we're a bit more on equal ground."

“I never thought I would say this, but you talk too much.” With only a heartbeat of hesitation Bilbo reached out and closed both hands around the thickest part of him, squeezing it tightly to elicit some sort of reaction.

The reaction was immediate. Thorin gave a short yelp, the outburst probably hurting his damaged throat more than his low-volume conversations had been. His hips jerked so he pushed against those hands, the sensation overwhelming in its suddenness. "There's oil on the bedside table. Don't think you can finish me off so easily."

“Finish you off?” Repeated the hobbit. “Goodness no, why ever would I want to do that? I just wanted to see how you would react. Now lie back, I’m not done with my turn looking yet.”

There was a noncommittal reply as Thorin laid himself back. Even in such a vulnerable position the dwarf had an air of confidence that he still had a hold on the power for this. It was Bilbo's turn after all and if he wanted to admire than he wasn't about to stop the hobbit from getting his fill. Soon enough he intended to have the young male beneath him again, squirming and moaning as he filled him in a very different way.

That was all the encouragement Bilbo needed to move forward. Bracing his hands on Thorin's splayed legs the hobbit crawled up his reclined body until he was level with Thorin's collar bone. His body was pliant and soft but the teeth that scraped across the dwarf's skin were anything but. "I like the way you smell, king under the mountain."

A jolt of arousal shot down Thorin's spine and he choked back a moan. Those teeth were harsh, but didn't break skin. He had to restrain himself from pushing the hobbit away and stop any more bruises from being laid on his flesh. "I thought this was for looking, not for leaving more marks."

"You were the one who said it was for looking, not me." Bilbo licked the teeth marks he'd left before moving down a little bit further. Thorin's cock rubbed against his belly and made them both shift and moan. "Oh that's perfect..."

"Careful," Thorin warned breathlessly, "or I may cut your turn short."

Brown eyes flicked up to meet blue ones. "Do you want me to stop?"

There was a tense moment between them before Thorin shook his head. "No." This felt…oddly familiar. Probably because their situation had been flipped earlier and he didn't realize it until he noticed how amused his companion looked.

Bilbo smiled at his answer. "I'm glad. I wasn't nearly finished yet." Kisses that were peppered down his chest were feather-light, purposefully teasing and not nearly enough.

Most dwarves only worked with their hands. Thorin had heard of a few pairs using their mouths in bed play - with the risk of getting the piercings and decorations tangled it was only in private and with close lovers that any indulged. Bilbo seemed unconcerned so hobbits were no doubt just different when it came to foreplay. It certainly made the king curious and he sat up on his elbows to watch as Bilbo moved down. Languid kisses were placed on each of his ribs, down his sides, his left hipbone was licked and nibbled on, and yet Bilbo managed to stay away from where they both knew Thorin wanted his mouth the most. Occasionally down-soft curls would brush against his shaft as the hobbit shifted his attention to another _not quite_ spot. It would have seemed like a torturous game if it hadn’t been for how hard Bilbo was breathing by the time he sat up again, soft whimpers escaping him with every exhale. Sweat trailed down his temples and the sides of his neck and his eyes were unfocused.

“Say please,” he whispered.

Even with his neck as sore as it was low rumbles and groans were pulled from the dwarf's throat as Bilbo continued. He wasn't the only one affected, far from it if the look on his companion's face was anything to go by, but oh how Thorin wanted those sweet lips wrapped around him in that moment. It was what he’d been tortured with the image of, the promise in every little brush and nibble, but Bilbo had so far kept that prize from him.

Still a fraction of the king's pride reeled him in before he could beg . "I never asked you to stop in the first place."

"I'm finished with my turn."

“Then that means it's mine again." It was a battle of wills now. Two dominant personalities clashing and Thorin was too stubborn to give up and ask. It seemed like they were going to be trapped in a stalemate, with one of them unwilling to bend and the other determined to have their way in the end. They stared at each other for agonizing seconds; the only sound that of the crickets outside and their uneven breathing.

It could be said that Bilbo broke first, but it wasn’t to concede the battle. Without breaking eye contact the hobbit leaned down, wrapped one of his hands around Thorin’s cock to steady it, and slowly dragged his tongue across its flushed tip.

"A-Ah…Mahal that's-!" Bilbo's tongue was like velvet over the head of his arousal and Thorin dropped back to lie flat as the sensation washed over his oversensitive nerves.

“Yes?” Bilbo prompted.

"That was …amazing."

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sadly my ‘turn’, as you put it, is over so I suppose that’s the end of it.” Bilbo raised his eyebrows and thinned his lips in mock disappointment as he leaned back and settled himself against a pillow that was nearly as big as he was with his fingers laced together over his still-sticky belly. “Such a shame.”

That wasn't fair. Jerking up again Thorin managed to look absolutely stupefied. Bilbo was completely serious though, having no intention of continuing...unless he asked. Covering his face the dwarf grumbled to himself in Khuzdul, grinding out his frustrations before he returned to a tongue that his companion would understand. "Please."

"I've gotten a 'please' and a 'thank you' out of you in the same day. It must be my birthday."

"Bilbo!"

"My mistake, that isn't until September."

"Are you quite finished yet?"

"I think we established earlier that I wasn't."

Already broadly grinning at the frustration he was causing, Bilbo broke into a laugh and shook his head. "I suppose you're right. Instead I should be rewarding you for your good manners." He crooked a finger at Thorin and licked his bottom lip, as if to recall the taste of him.

Though bristling at the summoning where Bilbo had laid back looked more comfortable. Shifting his position Thorin leaned into the large pillows so the propped him up, spreading his legs out as he gave the hobbit an expectant look. In an act of mercy Bilbo didn’t make him wait anymore. Instead he leaned over, braced one hand on Thorin’s stomach and the other on one of his hard legs. Soft lips closed around the very tip of his erection and the hobbit gave it a gentle suck. Thorin smothered himself with a hand over his mouth, his head rolling to the side as his eyes fluttered closed. Even if it had cost a bit of his pride the soft touch of Bilbo's lips and the gentle pressure made it worth it. Those torturous lips moved down lower until the entire head of his cock was enclosed in the tight, wet heat of Bilbo's mouth. The hobbit seemed content to stop there, suckling at him first soft and then harder as if Bilbo had decided that he liked what was in his mouth.

"Mmm…" Even with the hand over his mouth the dwarf's moan could still be heard through his fingers. His other hand searched the covers of the bed for something to grasp before he set them in Bilbo's hair as the pressure increased. He pet the curls then found an ear to caress so he wasn't the only one moaning in bliss.

A garbled sound managed to make it out of Bilbo's mouth, something between a yelp and a groan and the very tip of his teeth rubbed against the underside of Thorin's shaft when the dwarf began to stroke his ear.

"Ah…Don't bite." The older male's hand was pushed up into his own hair, grasping and then relaxing in the thick mane as he panted. He did not stop with the attention to Bilbo's ear, but he did gnash his teeth a bit more as he forced back any other noise the burglar was trying to work out of him.

When Bilbo pulled back a thin line of saliva still trailed from his bottom lip to Thorin's vividly flushed tip.

"S-sorry, didn't mean to. It's just that - mmm..." He leaned hard into Thorin's hand, his eyes fluttering shut in complete bliss.

"You can finish from this can't you?" He scraped a short nail against the rim of the sensitive ear. "You love it."

"Yesss," the hobbit hissed, his hips giving a half jerk that brought his cock up against Thorin's still-clothed leg. "Oh yes, so much."

"Keep sucking then burglar. You said you could have multiple orgasms and you will. Once you've spilled again I'll fuck you with my fingers and only after you can't take any more will I fuck you senseless." He stopped stroking the ear but he didn't release it just yet. It was a promise to continue if he got what he wanted.

"Oh sweet springtime..." Bilbo ducked his head and took a deep breath, as if trying to gather himself. There was already a small wet spot on Thorin's pants from the hobbit's precum as he ground himself against his leg, but somehow the burglar managed to pull himself together and swallowed down Thorin's cock with a ferocious enthusiasm. The return of stimulation was more than satisfactory. The dwarf held up his promise and started to rub and tickle the ear again as Bilbo excitedly suckled his erection. It was like his companion wanted to pull every last bit of fluid from his body all at once, but for now he was just getting precum. Similar to the amount being rubbed against his pant leg no doubt, but the hobbit was much more enthusiastic than he was about finding immediate release.

The breathy hums and whines that were managing to make their way out of Bilbo's throat were practically sinful. The hobbit began to bob his head, taking in more and more of Thorin's length until his jaw probably hurt from being stretched so wide. One of his shaking hands dug into the line of thick dark hair that trailed down Thorin's belly and the other covered his fingers where the dwarf was rubbing his ear. The movement was a new factor and Thorin couldn’t help but wonder when the next time he'd be able to let the hobbit do this would be. Judging by the way Bilbo was squirming and groaning around his arousal the other was getting off very well on this as well. It was a lot to take in and the dwarf couldn't help himself as he trust up into the hot mouth, wanting more of the blissful sensations.

Instantly Bilbo reared back, his throat convulsing as Thorin's cock rammed into it, making him gag and cough. "Thor - ack" The surprise paired with the sharp pinch Thorin had given his ear when he thrust was apparently too much for the overwhelmed hobbit. With a whimpering cry he came, his hips working furiously as cum splashed up along Thorin's pants.

There it was. Even if he lost the heat of Bilbo's mouth Thorin got to watch as the burglar came undone and lost himself to another orgasm. Dirty clothes could be washed and the king simply rubbed the hobbit's back and made low, soothing sounds.

When the other seemed to calm down Thorin wasn't quite as gentle. He lifted Bilbo up and deposited him into the pillows next to him on his back, rolling to the side of the bed to grab the jar of oil he'd procured for this. "Pick your position. Back or stomach. You know what's coming next."

"Back! No, stomach! Back! I don't know!" Bilbo wailed, clawing at the sheets with tears pooling in his eyes.

"Shhhh." Turning back over Thorin set a leg between Bilbo's and leaned over the frustrated hobbit. "Calm down, you've got time." Setting the sealed jar beside them for now Thorin leaned down to press their foreheads together. It was meant to comfort, the dwarf trying to keep their eyes locked so he could be a solid and sure thing through the haze of lust.

Gradually Bilbo's breathing evened out again and the frantic look left his face. After a moment when he realized that he wasn't going to be rushed into anything. Weak hands reached up and stroked Thorin's beard.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmured as he pet.

"I'm not going anywhere." The air was shared between them and Thorin pressed into that hand. "Even when we leave you will be by my side."

Keeping the contact while Bilbo explored his beard the dwarf tried to shift his position and get completely between the smaller's legs. Even as his cock strained for attention, demanding they move quickly but the king found it in himself to go slow again. "Are you ready?"

“I’ve been ready. I was ready an hour ago!”

"Would you like another kiss?" Thorin picked up the oil again, opening the jar and spreading it over his fingers. The space between them was already burning again and the cool fluid dripped off his hand and onto Bilbo's belly. He only spread it around with a thumb before dipping his hand between the hobbit's legs and spreading his cheeks. "It might help you calm down."

In answer Bilbo sat up on his elbows and crushed his mouth up against Thorin's even as the dwarf spread him on one slick finger, gasping and moaning into his mouth. The hands that had been rubbing at his beard speared up into his long hair and sent it cascading down around both of them, blocking out the dim candlelight. Both of them were getting lost in the rush of want. Thorin closed his eyes and just breathed as he let the hobbit have control of every kiss, inviting him to explore and enjoy whatever he wanted as he prepared him below. The first finger did not stay alone for long, a few shallow thrusts before he was sliding in a second alongside it. It was easier to spread his companion open, but by the gods was he tight. For fear of hurting the smaller before he was ready the fingers were brought together and he only thrust them deeply, curling them as he drew them out.

"Oh - oh!" Bilbo gasped and bucked under him, breaking their kiss so that he could duck his head. Ever so carefully he stroked the bandages that still covered Thorin's throat, making small and broken sounds with every thrust. "G-gracious, I - Thorin!"

Thorin shuddered, his skin was glistening with a fresh sheen of sweat. "How long has it been?" What he felt didn't line up with what he'd assumed of the hobbit. He'd seen Bilbo run off into the woods with another of his own company, but laid beneath him now his body didn't at all support his suspicion that their alone time had been spent in pleasure.

"What?" Came the confused query from underneath him.

The dwarf spread his thick fingers again as he thrust them back in. "This. Since you've had someone. I don't want to hurt you."

"Aah!" Bilbo yanked on his hair and quaked beneath the sensual onslaught. "Oh, I can't think - " He shook his head and he bit down hard on his bottom lip. "Four or five years? Maybe longer?"

Long enough. A third finger joined in the preparation and Thorin growled low. He was suddenly far more pleased with this, drinking in Bilbo's unraveling again. "I could keep you like this all night." He breathed. "Wearing you down, breaking you…how long until you start to beg?"

Glazed brown eyes gazed up at him. "I - " He panted and then broke off to catch his breath when Thorin's third finger stretched him wide. "I'm Belladonna's son. I don't beg. B-but I will say 'please' if I - if I - if -!" For the third time that evening Bilbo tried to curl in on himself and wailed as he orgasmed, his inner muscles clamping down on Thorin's fingers painfully hard.

The groan that escaped from the dwarf was loud. Not nearly as loud as Bilbo's wail, but he had to hold himself still as his companion came apart beneath him. His fingers stayed buried in the hobbit's body and he twisted them to see what sort of reaction he could still draw out while Bilbo was still oversensitive.

"That's three." Just in case the burglar had lost track; Thorin certainly hadn't and his cock wasn't letting him forget it.

"Talking...too much..." Bilbo panted, dragging his fingers through the mess he'd made of his belly and abdomen, his cock red and flushed where it was lying against on his hip. "Give me a moment, that was...oh _please_ no, _ah_!" His back arched, pushing him up and into Thorin as the dwarf scissored his fingers. "I said a moment!"

"I barely moved." Thorin teased. "Hold still and you won't even feel it soon enough. You'll want to be very relaxed for the next round."

"I'm feeling everything you do, you obtuse dwarf!" A quick punch was delivered to his shoulder, though there was little force or real irritation behind it.

The three fingers were spread again as he drew them out. Thorin sat up so he could get a good look at the mess that had been made and at just how open Bilbo was when he left each digit in to the first knuckle. "It doesn't look like my attentions have gone unappreciated."

"Are you dwarves as slow with this as you are with everything else? We're going to be here until tomorrow night at this rate." Bilbo pushed his sweaty curls out of his eyes and gave Thorin as fierce a glare as he could manage when he was naked and had cum rolling down his sides.

"We don't finish as fast as you hobbits seem to. We relish in the burn and the build to a hard, long finish." Thorin twisted his fingers around one last time before withdrawing them and taking up the oil to spread over his leaking cock.

Bilbo didn't reply. He was too busy watching Thorin oil his shaft until it was nigh unto dripping with the stuff. Both hands twisted into the sheets and he brought up his legs as if unsure what exactly to do with them now that he wasn't being touched. Once he’d prepared himself the dwarf hooked his hands under Bilbo's knees and lifted them up, keeping his legs open to better expose the other. His full arousal was pressed against the hobbit's body, the thick shaft sliding between his spread cheeks and over the prepared hole without actually penetrating. Thorin knew his companion had said he wouldn't beg, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to get something.

What he did get was a very bad word spat at him. Rather than covering his mouth and looking ashamed with himself like any other young hobbit might have had they been caught using profanity in such an intimate situation Bilbo simply reached down and grabbed Thorin by his hips, digging in with his blunt nails. “Some time tonight, please!”

"Impatient hm?" One leg was released and Thorin grabbed himself, checking that the oil was spread properly before holding himself steady and lining up with the waiting hole. The brief pause it took to re-situate himself was all the warning given before the dwarf was pushing into the blissfully tight heat. Thanks to the preparation and the fluid there was no resistance, just overwhelming pressure that made the larger male's breath catch.

Bilbo clearly felt a little bit more than just pressure because the hobbit yelped and began to shove at Thorin’s stomach. “Too fast, too fast, _too fast_! Cherry blossoms you’re big!”

Thorin's hips jerked back so hard he pulled completely out. He huffed and grabbed himself again, pressing the tip back against Bilbo’s opening and plugging it up. "Sorry. Let me-" He grabbed the oil again and spread a bit more along his shaft, pulling back and then pushing back in. As long as there was no protest he'd just keep with the shallow thrusts until Bilbo was ready. "How's that?"

“Better,” came the panted reply, though there were still lines of stress around the hobbit’s eyes and mouth, made all the deeper by the candlelight.  “Sorry, wasn’t expecting that. It’s been a while and you’re a bit bigger than a hobbit.” His erection had softened from the surprise and pain.

Snaking a hand between them Thorin tucked his fingers around the fading erection and spread the excess oil around before giving a careful pump. “I was overeager. It won't happen again." As the promise was whispered the dwarf leaned down and pressed his lips to Bilbo's neck. He sucked at the skin lightly to start a mark. Bilbo interrupted that when he turned his head so that their lips met again and his tongue swept into Thorin’s mouth, instantly taking control as it twined around Thorin’s and teased at the corners of his lips.

“I know, you just surprised me,” he gasped when they broke apart again. “Just let me – there.” Lightly furred legs came up to wrap around Thorin’s rocking hips and his pants fell down to his knees. “That’s – oh that one was much nicer – that’s better, isn’t it?”

Thorin dove back down to dominate a second kiss, encouraged by the other's enthusiasm. With Bilbo's new angle it felt like an easier slide in and he tested for a bit more depth. He didn't stop stroking the hobbit's cock, keeping a pace with his thrusting.

"You tell me, burglar." The eager kiss was broken and the dwarf returned to his mark.

“No, please – “ Thorin found himself grabbed by one of his ears the side of his face and pulled back until he was looking down at Bilbo’s face again. “Please don’t call me that. Just this once please say my name. You can never use it again after this if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to be the burglar right now. Just say my name.”

Dragged from his place again the dwarf nearly lost his balance and his cock ended up slipping out again. He grunted and braced himself again, meeting Bilbo's gaze evenly. "I…" Thorin hadn't even realized he hadn't been using his companion's name. "Bilbo." He rubbed their noses together, the gesture still rather intimate despite the heat still radiating off of them. "You have more than earned being called by your name if that is what you desire."

Even if the jar was almost empty Thorin dumped the rest of it into his hand, pressing two fingers into Bilbo to make sure he was still slick. The rest was trailed up between his thighs, over the returned erection and around on Bilbo's belly. He grasped his own cock again, pressing back in. "Now let me hear you Bilbo. Moan for me."

For once his command went unquestioned.

A high, trembling cry ripped itself from Bilbo’s throat, filling the room with the sound of agonized pleasure and the slap of flesh against flesh. Hair was pulled. Braids came undone. Sweat dripped onto the sheets as they rocked against each other, lost to carnal intoxication and the heady scent of lust. The bed creaked with every thrust and the room had begun to feel over-warm. Long scratch marks were left trailing across Thorin’s back and shoulders, teeth marks on Bilbo’s collarbone and neck. Somewhere between the awkwardness and fumbling touches a spark had caught and now it roared through each of them in equal measure.

“T-Thorin” Bilbo gasped as he reached up to push the king’s trailing hair away from his face. “Give me more, I want – I want _everything_.”

Once the two of them heated up there was no stopping them. Bilbo did nothing but encourage the frenzy and soon Thorin was losing his control. His labored breaths and quick moans burned his throat but it didn't stop him. There was just a sliver of control left and Bilbo’s demand was to be rid of it. Who was he to deny Bilbo what he wanted? Especially when his body was gripping him so wonderfully and he looked absolutely beautiful with that needy expression on his face.

"So be it." Thorin buried himself to the root, groaning in earnest when the inner walls held so deliciously. Not one to let the heat entice him just yet the dwarf kept his harsh pace with the new depth, claiming Bilbo entirely.

"Getting close…" After all the foreplay, the build and the teasing, Thorin was surprised he wasn't already at his peak. It wouldn't do to finish and not have Bilbo completely senseless beneath him. He held off a little longer, going so far as to cheat and lock his teeth back around one of the hobbit's ears. Luckily for both of them that was all it took to catapult Bilbo right into another orgasm and he muffled his shriek against Thorin’s mouth so that the dwarf was forced to swallow it as cum splashed between their bellies.

“Now. Now _now now now_ ,” Bilbo chanted before he bit down on Thorin’s bottom lip hard enough to hurt.

Thorin choked as the suffocating heat only got tighter and plunged back into the hobbit when he finally came. He had to hold tight to Bilbo's hips and hold the smaller male still as his whole body shook. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him and each was accompanied with a surge of cum to fill the willing body beneath him. The larger form curled overtop the other, hiding him from view as they both basked in their moment of utter euphoria.

Naturally the hobbit recovered the fastest of the two. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but you’re crushing me.”

The best that could be done was the exiled-king hoisting himself up onto his elbows so he could rub his beard against Bilbo's smooth cheek. He didn't want to pull out, absolutely hooked on the heat holding him so firmly. "Better?"

"A bit." Bilbo gingerly unhooked one of his legs let it fall back onto the bed. Both of them hissed when this shifted Thorin back a bit, testing their oversensitive parts. "That was..."

Interrupting Bilbo before he could finish his breathy exclamation Thorin slid the rest of the way out, disappointed in the loss, but not feeling it nearly as much as the hobbit would be.

"Go on." Rolling to the side an arm was laid over the bare form beside him, Thorin's expression surprisingly soft and satisfied compared to the serious intensity he usually wore. "I thoroughly enjoyed that."

"As did - goodness gracious look at the mess you made of me." Bilbo had gotten up onto his elbows and was staring down at his body, which was a mess of bites marks, hickies, and beard rash. There was also a noticeable wet spot forming on the sheets between his legs as Thorin's copious spendings began to trickle down his abused bum. "How did we manage that?"

"Don't question it." The weight of the arm increased as Thorin tried to pull his companion to lie back down. He was drifting, completely spent. "Just rest a moment."

Bilbo smiled down at him, rubbing at the purple bruise that was already appearing on his neck. “You rest. I’m going to get cleaned up a little bit and then – “

It was the last thing Thorin heard before he fell asleep.

\--------------------------------------------------

“Well how do you like that?” Bilbo stared down at the snoring dwarf. One moment those blue eyes had been gazing up at him, hazy with languid pleasure and the next Thorin was utterly dead to the world with his head buried in his pillow. He’d heard of some kinds liking to nap after sex but this was taking things to an extreme.

“I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t nod off right in the middle.” A sharp twinge speared through him when Bilbo sat up to move to the edge of the bed. He was positive that there was a handkerchief in his pants pocket that he could at least use to mop himself up a little bit (one of the dogs had given him two or three of them that morning and he’d had to cut them into quarters so that they weren’t each as big as a dinner napkin). It had been more than the four or five years he’d told Thorin since he had last done something that strenuous. After a certain age he’d simply stopped being interested in satisfying any sort of carnal itch, so it had been more like forty years since he had last indulged and his body was telling him in no uncertain terms that it had been used a little bit harder than usual. “Maybe harder than ever before,” he grumbled as he fumbled with his pants. So what if his fifty year old self had been a bit more free with his affections than he had grown to be? That didn’t mean that being fucked into the bed by a dwarf of Thorin’s size wasn’t going to leave an ache or two.

There he paused, his thoughts coming to a screeching halt fast enough to give him whiplash.

Fucked into the bed.

By Thorin.

Bilbo turned as slowly as if he had been turned to stone, afraid to breathe too loudly lest he break the spell that had settled over him. The steady pounding of his heartbeat in his ears was too loud.

What had he done?

Thorin lay where he had fallen, half of his clothes still on and one arm thrown out as if even in sleep he was reaching out to pull Bilbo to him. Every inch of his skin glistened with sweat and the smell of sex lingered so heavily in the air that Bilbo could taste it. Or perhaps that was simply the taste of precum thay lingered on his tongue from when he’d –

“Oh no,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this! The only thing he’d been sent to do was to protect the Durins and he was fairly certain that letting Thorin talk him into bed didn’t qualify as ‘protecting’. Sex was a distraction he didn’t need.

Love was even more so.

This hadn’t happened last time, so where had he changed things along the way to make it come about? Had he changed Thorin somehow without knowing it and forced this on both of them? Worry and stress began to chew at his insides like a disease. He should have said no. He should have stayed with the company and never come to Thorin’s room.

 _But it was so good_ , he groaned internally. _And you’ve been wanting it for so, so long how could you possibly say no?_

_I should have been stronger than this._

_It’s just for one night –_

_It can only be for one night! After this mooning over him could be what gets everyone killed._

That was as good as a bucket of cold water. As quickly as he could Bilbo cleaned himself up and reached for his shirt. This was enough. It had to be enough. Tomorrow morning he could go back to how things were supposed to be and lock away this memory with his few other good ones, to be turned over in his mind and smiled at when he couldn’t sleep. Right now though he needed to be gone before Thorin woke. 

_The least I can do is take his shoes off, that can’t be comfortable._

With his shift on but still unbuttoned Bilbo carefully crawled back across the expanse of the bed until he was kneeling next to Thorin’s heavy boots. His bum burned and his hips ached from the pounding he’d taken but he did his best to ignore them as he worked at the ties. They were proving much more difficult than the ones on Thorin’s pants – _don’t think about that!_

He shook his head to rid himself of them image and then tucked his hair back behind his ears before giving the first boot a firm pull to get it off. With as hard as Thorin had cum he would probably sleep through an earthquake.

“Why the shirt?”

Or maybe not.

Bilbo yelped and looked up to find Thorin watching him through half-lidded eyes. The dwarf king hadn’t moved except to resettle his outstretched arm so that he could trace one of the scratch marks Bilbo had left on his opposite shoulder. “Going somewhere?”

“I – I just thought that – “

“Stop thinking. Come here.”

It wasn’t for a very long time afterwards that Bilbo found the strength to think at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that was a lot of porn. Veskasa, one day I'm going to be able to write porn without you, just you watch.


	33. A Proper Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

The scratching at the door was soft, enough so that Bilbo might have missed it if he wasn’t already awake. Waking early was a habit that he had gotten into a long time ago and never really shaken with the exception of when he had passed one hundred and twenty and begun to fall asleep at odd hours and in the middle of conversations. Luckily that wasn’t something that had carried over with his reincarnation, so rather than sleeping through first and second breakfast like the rest of Beorn’s house seemed determined to do Bilbo was busy doing his best to wriggle out from under a very heavy and hairy arm without waking the dwarf next to him. This time he _wasn’t_ stopping to take off anyone’s boots (not that there were any to bother with now. Thorin had managed to kick off the remainder of his clothes sometime during the night and now said boots lay on their sides next to the oversized bed).

It hadn’t been an entirely unpleasant way to wake up; feeling warm and safe with his back pressed against Thorin’s chest and their knees tucked up like matching puzzle pieces. Of course that hadn’t been quite enough to lull him back to sleep because the moment he’d shifted with the intention of rolling over the culmination of all of the night’s activities had made itself known. Bilbo had only barely managed to swallow his squeak of pain and dismay when he realized that he ached from his head to his toes and more than ached in certain areas. Bite marks on his neck and shoulders throbbed and there were bruises in the shape of fingers on his upper arms that began to send up a clamor the moment he put pressure on them. And that said nothing about the state of his rear or his poor abused member! Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined getting beard chafe marks on his cock but now that he had he couldn’t say that he recommended it. Next time he would have to make sure that Thorin was a bit more careful with his facial hair.

“There isn’t going to _be_ a next time,” he reminded himself as he slithered off the side of the bed and stifled a whimper when the movement stretched his sore muscles. “There wasn’t even supposed to be a _first_ time! Here I was thinking that I was too old for such ridiculousness. It’s distracting, that’s what it is.”

His shirt had ended up under the bed and his trousers on a chair by the door. How they had gotten there he had no idea. As for his lovely vest, it had ended up in a wrinkled mess directly underneath Thorin. Bilbo deemed it a lost cause and decided to come back to fetch it later once the room was unoccupied. If he tried to get it now it was likely that he’d rouse the king and that was the last thing he wanted when he’d just made up his mind not to give into temptation again. Besides, it was unlikely he’d be able to walk for the next two or three days if he did decide to indulge. The discomfort that had settled in his limbs and belly were more than enough to convince him to take things easy for the next little while. Why did dwarves have to be so much more…everything? They bit more, they fucked harder, never before had Bilbo felt so well-used and it had left him limping.

The scratching had come right as he was finishing buttoning up his rumpled shirt and instantly a bolt of panic shot through him. What if it was Dwalin? Or Fili and Kili? He wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one with an excuse that he’d been checking on Thorin’s neck bandages and then he’d be in all sorts of hot water. For one wild moment he considered simply hiding behind the door and pretending that no one was awake, but that would only prompt the person outside to scratch louder and possibly wake up Thorin. There was nothing for it, he’d simply have to think up some story on the fly and pray that no one thought ill of him for what he’d been doing.

“I never thought that being a hobbit would be so stressful,” he whispered as he got up on his toes and unlocked the door. The scratching stopped the moment he cracked it open and a thin nose poked itself inside. It wasn’t a dwarf nose and Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief as one of Beorn’s dog servants looked at him curiously around the edge. It was a greyhound-type beast, with very short gray fur and giant eyes and it whined at him when he sagged against the door frame.

“Sorry, you scared a year off my life. I really shouldn’t worry so much; it isn’t good for my health. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown before all of this is over, I just know it.” 

The dog’s pink tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth and its ears twitched before it backed up out of the door again. Not entirely sure what it wanted, Bilbo gave his vest one last longing look before he followed after the creature and shut the door behind him, leaving Thorin asleep. The soft click of the latch sounded very final. It _had_ to be final, Bilbo reminded himself and he bit the inside of his cheek to tamp down on his disappointment. There was no sort of future for a king and a burglar outside of fairy tales. Once Thorin was king of his mountain Bilbo would – what would he do? Fade away? Go back to the Shire? Assuming he survived the experience in the first place, that is.

“ _Would you have given your own life for theirs?”_

He would have. He still would if it came to that, though that wasn’t exactly his first choice for how things would end.

“Damn dwarves and damn one of them in particu – oh, is that a towel?” Luckily it was in the nature of hobbits not to hold onto sorrows or their troubles for too long when they were presented with a distraction and the fluffy cotton towel that the greyhound was holding out to him on its front paws was exactly the right sort of diversion from his morbid thoughts. “I don’t suppose there’s a bathtub somewhere to go along with this?”

The morning was looking up as the hound yipped and dropped to all fours, leaving Bilbo to hold the towel and follow after to somewhere that he could hopefully soak away his aches and worries for a little while before a proper breakfast.

__________________________________

_‘Strictly Required’_

 - Find troll hoard and get swords - _check_

 - Talk to Elrond - _check_

 - Get ring - _check_

 - Go to Beorn’s house - _check_

 - Get Thranduil’s help with final battle

 - Talk to Bard and the Master about an alliance with Erebor

 - Kill Smaug

 - Kill Azog

 - Kill Bolg

 - Reclaim Erebor

 - Go home

 

_‘Not Necessarily Necessary’_

 - Fight trolls – _Bypassed by running_

 - Get chased by orcs to Rivendell – _check_

 -  ~~Get captured by goblins~~

 - ~~Fall down a ravine and talk to Gollum~~

 - ~~Get cornered on cliff~~

-Replaced by thieves’ den, underwater cave, hill bandits and Gollum - check

 - Get lost in Mirkwood

 - Get imprisoned by Thranduil

 - Set Smaug on Laketown

 - Fight against the men and elves

 - Get hit in the head with a rock

 

_‘Avoid At All Costs’_

 - Let the Durins Die

 

“Good morning!”

It took quite a lot of self-control for Bilbo not to drop his quill when Ori came into the kitchen. The dwarf’s hair was wet and his bandages looked to have been freshly changed – there was also a dog following after him with a hand towel in its mouth, mopping up the drips that he was leaving behind. As casually as he could manage Bilbo slid his newly re-written list to his other side as Ori clambered up onto the long bench at the dining table across from him.

“And to you,” he replied agreeably. The bath had done wonders and left him feeling cheerful and clean for the first time in, well, he didn’t really want to think about the last time he’d been able to bathe with soap was. It made his skin crawl a little bit. “How are your – ah – battle wounds?”

Ori reached out and dragged the fresh loaf of bread and the honey pot across the table. “Good! Good. Oin says I might have some scars, and I really hope so because then I’ll look like a dwarf proper.”

“And you can show them off to all of the lady dwarves.” It was meant to be teasing but Bilbo zeroed in when Ori went suspiciously red and busied himself dunking his pieces of bread into the honey, not answering. “Or is there someone in particular that you’d want to show them to?”

A sticky mumble was the only answer he got. One of the dogs reached up and pushed a pile of what looked like pancakes with sweet cream onto the table and Bilbo took one with a word of thanks. The animals had been running two and fro for the last hour since he had emerged from the bath and requested a quill and paper, all of them cooking and sweeping as they made ready for breakfast. Feeding thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, a wizard, and a bear shifter was no small task and the massive kitchen had begun to smell more heavenly by the second. Sadly there were no sausages or thick slices of bacon because Beorn’s household did not indulge in meat, but there were roasted tomatoes with melted cheese on them, piles of fluffy scrambled eggs, bowls of fresh fruits and berries, and big wooden jugs full of what Bilbo had discovered was apple juice when he did his best to pour a glass without spilling it everywhere. He’d only been partially successful.

“Come on now Ori, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone. Is it a secret? Does she know that you like her?” 

“She’d best know since he’s been mooning over her since he was eleven and she broke his nose when he told her that she was pretty.” Dori came in, followed closely by Bombur and Gloin. All three clambered up onto the high bench and Bilbo shifted his list a little bit more out of view, leaning on it with his elbow and praying he wasn’t smudging the fresh ink too terribly. This would probably be one of the few chances he got to revise the thing for a while and he wanted to have it fresh in his mind before they ventured into Mirkwood. After all, that was where things began to get really complicated.

“Oh aye, I remember when I first met my Stori. Bloodied my lip she did, middle of a bar fight, and Oin was up all night tellin’ me about how she was trouble. Married her the next year and never been happier.” Gloin smoothed down his damp beard and began to slide his silver beads back into it while Ori turned even redder and tried to bury himself in a bowl of strawberries.

“Well Maylin was never one to sit idly by and look pretty, even when she was a babe. I remembered Dwalin bringing her into my tea shop every morning he didn’t have duty and she would stand on the table and tell Ori about all of the things he’d done wrong while they were playing house the day before. She didn’t think very highly of your housekeeping, did she?” Dori smiled over at Ori, who mutely shook his head.

“Dwalin would bring her by?” Bilbo was finding this whole thing very interesting. He’d been so miserable and homesick the first time he’d gone through with this madcap adventure that he had never bothered to get to know the other dwarves very well past their battle experience. “Where they related?”

“We talkin’ about Maylin?” Dwalin came in at that moment, wearing nothing but his pants and a towel across his shoulders. “That gel has a skull thick enough for two dwarves. You know she went into the guard the minute she turned fifty? Jus’ like her da’, though you should’a seen the face she made at me when I said she might wan’t t’ give bodyguardin’ a chance instead. Less chance o’ getting’ shanked in a back alley. You’d a thought I spit in her ale.” Dwalin heaved himself up onto the bench next to Dori and instantly got bath water all over everything. “’Da’, she says to me, ‘If I wanted a cushy fatso t’ look after I would’a got a cat.’ Bought her a halberd th’ next day so she’d start talkin’ t’ me again.”

“You have a daughter?!” Nori had appeared from nowhere down at the other end of the table. Bilbo nearly dropped his juice and Gloin choked on his eggs. “Since when?”

Dwalin looked confused as he took the honey pot from Ori. “Since her mum popped her out, I expect. Nice lass, not really the motherin’ type though so I got Maylin when she went off with a caravan. Pretty black hair and the biggest – “

“Yes thank you, I get the picture. And you didn’t mention this why?”

“You never asked.”

It went on like this for quite a while, so Bilbo busied himself with a pot of jam and a piece of semi-warm toast while he made small adjustments to his list. No one was looking so he felt relatively safe in doing so. Or at least until Ori decided to peek up at him from under his wet hair.

“What are you working on?” He asked quietly, pitching his voice so as not to attract the attention of the other dwarves, most of whom had dissolved into talking about the beards of their lovers and what length and color was the most attractive. Nori had decided to stay out of the conversation and was shooting Dwalin dark looks every time the warrior wasn’t looking. 

Bilbo had been in the middle of putting a check mark next to ‘Go to Beorn’s house’ when Ori spoke and the sudden attention made his hand wobble enough that the check turned into something that resembled a musical note. “Pardon? Oh, this. It’s just a, ah, a list. Of things I need to get done.”

“Things back at your home?” Ori shifted a bit closer and Bilbo leaned forward to cover up the parchment.

“Something like that.”

“It was a lovely place, the Shire. Very green. In fact I don’t think I’d seen somethin’ so fresh-looking in my whole life. What is it folks do all day that they need lists to keep track of it? Seemed simple enough to me.”

“Yes, well, there’s more to it than just sitting around all day and smoking with your feet up. A lot of the folk in the Shire are farmers, which means they’re up at the crack of dawn with the cows and the pigs and whatnot, and then there are fields and gardens to be tended to and market day is every Sunday. Everyone and their grandmother dresses up and comes out to trade and gossip for the day. There are also festivals and birthday parties and weddings going on all the time, so you have to factor in time for those – it can get quite busy when it comes down to it.”

Now the summer was drawing to a close it would nearly be time for the annual apple-picking party. It went on for three days and three nights and everyone went out picnicking in their finest outfits and made pies and crisps and cider until the whole Shire smelled of apples well into October.

“Looks like I’ll be missing a couple parties this year,” Bilbo murmured to himself and used his quill to doodle a tiny apple in the bottom corner of his list. “But that’s alright, I don’t really mind. This is more important than apples after all.”

“Apples?” Ori stuffed a giant spoonful of pure honey straight into his mouth and Gloin had to pound him on the back when he started to suffocate on the sticky stuff.

“They’re round. You put them in your mouth,” Bilbo added, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“I can think of a lot of things that fit that description,” Nori muttered around his mouthful of blackberries and cream.

Fili and Kili chose that moment to walk in, as the table erupted with laughter and shouting about other round things, their hair rumpled from how they’d been sleeping on it. Each of the brothers clambered up onto the bench, Fili on Bilbo’s right and Kili on his left before sinking down in sync and pillowing their hands and on their arms as if they had every intention of going right back to sleep at the table. Bilbo quickly folded up his list and tucked it into his pocket.

“Wha’re we talkin’ bout?” Kili yawned.

“Apples. I was telling Ori about what sort of things we do in the Shire and then – “

“Cherries!”

“Tomatoes!”

“Tits!”

“ _Bofur!_ Manners.” That came from Dori.

“As you see.” Bilbo finished and Fili snorted before patting around to find Bilbo’s half full glass of juice. The prince’s sheared hair now fell in fairly even layers since Dori had taken Bilbo’s silver scissors to it. A couple of longer braids had been put in at the front and the shorter strands at the back had been twined together to give it the illusion of more length that was simply bound up tightly. It wasn’t FIli’s usual look by any stretch of the imagination and the intricate coils would probably fall out the minute there was a fight, but for now the prince seemed happy enough with the arrangement. At least he wasn’t brooding into his juice cup over it like most of the other dwarves would be doing had their situations been reversed.

“So what, lay around all day an’ smoke?” Fili wiped his mustache on his sleeve. “Not too hard a life.”

“Now really, I was just telling Ori that isn’t how it is at all!”

“Yes, he goes to parties too,” Ori chimed in helpfully and Bilbo groaned while both of the princes started to snicker at his expense.

Clearly there was no way to salvage his dignity now. “I also write books and take hunting trips and play darts,” he added. Maybe those would help to balance out the bad of ‘laying around and going to parties’.  It didn’t seem to because both of the princes and Ori were now deep in conversation about which was more exhausting – having a good smoke or getting ready for a night out and all three of them ignored him.

“Darts?” Nori again and this time Bilbo managed not to drop anything when the thief wriggled his way into the space between Bilbo and Kili, shoving the prince face-first into a bowl of porridge.

“Yes, every Thursday with Ham and Todd Longfoot from down the lane. Beat the pants off them every time but they kept coming back for some reason or another. Here Kili, take my napkin.” He passed it around Nori to the spluttering prince as Kili tried to use his fingers to get the porridge out of his eyes.

“So you’re good at throwing things?” Nori pressed, looking very intent.

“Ah, yes I suppose I am. Birds and squirrels used to flee when they saw me coming when I was a youth since I could knock them right out of trees with a skipping stone. I guess I had an eye for it. Why?”  

The thief was already climbing off the bench again and heading for the door without having touched a bite. “Meet me out front after breakfast. I have an idea.”

“But your ideas are always – !“ Too late, Nori was gone.

Fili leaned over in front of Bilbo and scrubbed at his brother’s face with another napkin, making Kili yelp and try to pull away. “Are always what?”

“They always get me into trouble in one way or another. It would be rude to hide in my bed though, so I might as well get whatever it is over with.” Bilbo sighed and scooped up his quill and inkpot before Kili could knock them over reaching for a spoon. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” both princes and Ori returned as Bilbo scrambled off the bench and turned with the intention of returning the writing tools to one of the dogs before seeing what sort of trouble Nori had concocted for him. It was only natural that there was someone standing directly behind him when he spun around and completely understandable that this startled him fiercely and he upended the ink pot all over this person’s shirtfront and his own hands.

Of course it was Thorin.

The two of them stared down at the growing black stain that was quickly spreading across Thorin’s shirt down to the bottom edges.

“Not quite the ‘good morning’ I expected,” Thorin said after a long moment during which everyone at the breakfast table watched in utter silence.

“You – you! Dwarves!” Bilbo went brilliantly red and shoved the half-empty jar of ink at Thorin before stalking off, doing his best not to limp and preserve his tattered dignity.   

Every eye at the table turned to the king once the hobbit was out of sight.

“Wha’ did you do?” Kili asked with his mouth full of pancakes.

“How is this _my_ fault?” Thorin growled before climbing up between his nephews for breakfast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I'm afraid I've been a bit busy getting ready for Chicago Con! Kili's sword got here today and I've been trying to build up my shoulder muscles enough that I won't look like an idiot when I try to draw my own bow. Fun stuff. 
> 
> Anyway, for all of you who haven't seen the spoiler picture yet you can find it here!  
> ["Not This Time"](http://mariejacquelyn.tumblr.com/post/55237314081/not-this-time-spoiler-picture-for-an-expected)


	34. Pins and Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

“If you prick yourself on that end you’ll be dead in under a minute.”

Biblo hastily jerked his hands away from the steel needle Nori was holding out to show him and tucked them into his pockets so that he wouldn’t be tempted to touch anything else the thief offered him.

“Remind me never to take anything from you ever again.”

Nori grinned and made the needle vanish into some pocket or another with a quick flick of his wrist. “Even if it’s food?”

“Well food is a completely different manner. I would probably take that from a troll if it smelled good enough.” Bilbo walked over to stand beside the hay bale that he and Nori had wrestled out of Beorn’s barn a few minutes earlier. There were still pieces of hay stuck in his hair and in the pockets of his decidedly wrinkled vest. He had fetched it out of Thorin’s room while the king was at breakfast, all the while doing his best to calm the flush that seemed to have permanently settled in his ears and face. Of all of the clumsy idiotic things to do after a night of passion, spilling good ink all over one’s partner had to top the list. And then he had all but sworn at Thorin before running away – the height of poor manners. Had his mother been alive to witness it she would have smacked him over the head and sent him out without any lunch to think about what he’d done. In place of that he retreated into his own self-imposed exile and run out to meet Nori. It wasn’t avoiding Thorin, it was simply avoiding another embarrassing confrontation, he told himself as he pulled hay out from his collar and let the wind whisk it away.

“I should ‘ave known a hobbit would take food from any ne’er-do-well. Bad habit that, anybody could slip a bit’a hemlock into your stew and then where’d you be?”

“Dead, I imagine. But really, who would want to poison a hobbit in the first place? The only time anybody dies of something like that is when kits put the wrong sort of mushroom in their mouths and that’s always a tragedy.” He could think of two funerals that he’d attended because of that. Each one had been terrible and the parents of the babes had carried the weight of it for years, but there was little that could be done except try to warn their children about the hazards of eating things that they found out and about, especially the pretty red mushrooms that grew in the forest every springtime.

Nori made a sympathetic noise and moved to stand on the other side of the hay bale. “Aye, no child should have t’ die before their time like that, no matter what their kind. Anyhow, that’s not why I called you out from the table.” A scrap of cloth was removed from Nori’s pocket and pinned to the middle of the hay with a throwing dagger. “I’ve been thinkin’ t’ myself e’er since you got that little pig sticker of yours. It works well enough, but you don’t have the arm for it.”

“I beg your pardon!”

The smirk Nori gave him was enough to have Bilbo wishing that he’d strapped Sting on that morning just so that he could show Nori exactly what sort of ‘arm’ he had for it. The thief wouldn’t be smiling nearly as much when he was singing in a slightly higher note…

“My arm is perfectly fine.”

“I didn’ mean _that_ arm, Bilbo.”    

The hobbit’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I didn’t either, but if you really want to play that game I’ll be happy to oblige. After all, you know what they say about hobbits with big feet.” Bilbo turned one of his in the grass and felt very satisfied when Nori’s eyebrows shot up.

“Nah, ne’er heard that one. What’d they say?”

“Nothing, we all have big feet. You dwarves are so thick sometimes; I don’t know how you manage to tell your brains from loose rocks. Now where did I put my pipe?” It was a poor excuse to look away, but Bilbo needed some way to hide his smile so that he wouldn’t laugh straight in Nori’s face, so he set to patting his pockets as if his pipe was hidden in one of them (it was actually tucked safely into his rucksack back in the lodge).

The needle made a reappearance and Nori began to flip the thing between his fingers like a silver fish. “As I was sayin’,” he said, sounding as long suffering as any hobbit who had just had their toes trod on, “Yer arm is too short for that blade. No chance of a killin’ blow unless y’er right up under whoever you happen t’ be stabbin’ at.”

“I’m alright with being up close; it’s what I have to do! Otherwise what do you expect me to do, throw it the next time we’re attacked by goblins?” Sting was his sword after all and it had served him more than well up to this point. He was loath to turn it in for whatever it was Nori had in mind.

“I’m not goin’ t’ take yer knife from you, simmer down.”

“It isn’t a knife, it’s a short sword and I really don’t think that –“

The words died in his mouth when the poisoned needle Nori was playing with suddenly flashed and ended up pointed directly at his Adam’s apple. Instantly he raised his hands and tried not to swallow lest the tip break his skin and leave him foaming at the mouth on the grass. It wasn’t the sort of fate he’d imagined for himself, dead because he’d pissed off Nori. The amused gleam had left the thief’s eyes and his hand was as still as granite, the very essence of deadly seriousness.

“Is it as fast as that?” He asked quietly.

“No,” Bilbo whispered. Dragonflies weren’t that fast. Speeding arrows looked like they were standing still compared to how quick and quiet Nori could be.

“I’ve been watchin’ you, Bilbo. You an’ yer sword. You ‘ave some skill with it, but not a lot. Yer swings are wide, yer blocks are nonexistent. You ‘aven’t had a partner to spar with to keep you in practice an’ it shows. You need somethin’ that suits you a bit more. Jus’ for emergencies, mind you.” The needle was gone again, once more weaving through Nori’s fingers and Bilbo sucked in a deep breath of air, not realizing that he’d been holding his breath. Torn between anger and curiosity he stayed quiet, rubbing his neck as if he could still feel the prick of steel at it.

“Anyway, wanted t’ give you these. Don’t use ‘em much since they ain’t as fast as I’d like. Much prefer my knives, but they work nicely if you give ‘em a minute or two t’ kick in properly. Should suit you well enough if you got a good enough eye for it, like you said.” A small leather parcel was pulled out of Nori’s belt pouch and Bilbo gave the thief a stern look before he accepted it.

“This isn’t poisoned too, is it?” He joked.

“Nah, those’re on the inside.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean – I was just joking!” Bilbo held the pouch as it if was made of spun sugar that would explode if he looked at it too hard.

“I wasn’t.” Nori reached out and undid the small hook at the front. “That can be undone quickly, or you can jus’ leave it open like I usually do. Got the set off of an assassin I met in a tavern. He was from the south and traded ‘em to me for a tip that turned out well for ‘im. Now they’re yours.” The unhook flap was pulled back, revealing a neat row of steel needles, each with their own separate strap to hold them in place and each as long as Bilbo’s hand and as thick as his smallest finger. They weren’t flat like knives, but rather fat in the middle and tapered to a fine point at each end. There were twenty in all, and four of them had a red string tied around their middles. “These ones already have a toxin on ‘em, dried, to be used when you ‘ave a need. The rest you can throw at eyes or neck, or poison ‘em yerself if you ‘ave the time.”

“Poison them myself?” Bilbo repeated, his eyes glued to the cold gleam of metal in his hands and wondering what it would feel like to have one of the bolts go right through your eye. Why, it was long enough to go clear through to your brain if thrown properly! The hobbit shuddered and tried not to feel sick. Imaginary deaths were very low on the list of things that should rattle his nerves.

Nori tapped the four small bottles that were secured in tiny pockets at the base of the needles. Each held a small amount of liquid and each was a different color. There was a small symbol carved in the leather in front of each, no doubt to help distinguish their contents. “Right here. A bit of oil cloth goes over the top to keep ‘em watertight and then when you need ‘em, just stick the pin right in and give it a throw. Just don’t get it on yer hands and remember to put a new cloth o’er it each time or you might get it somewhere you didn’ plan on. ‘ad a friend go out that way, right in the middle o’ eatin’. Got a bit on his knife an’ jus dropped dead. Found out ‘is poisons ‘ad been leakin all o’er the place. Marvel ‘e lived as long as ‘e did.”

“That’s very comforting, thank you. Are you sure I’m really cut out for something like this? Throwing darts is one thing, but poisons? Eyeballs? That sounds quite horrible, I must admit.”  

“You like livin’?”

Well when he put it that way… ”Yes, of course I do. I just thought I was doing an alright job of staying that way without having anything like this on my person.”

“Think of it as backup, if you want. Most company members have a secondary weapon or can get their hands on one if it comes t’ that. You should have more than yer sword. Now listen up, I’ll say this once. This first one ‘ere,” he tapped the first bottle with his needle (which Bilbo noticed did _not_ have a string around it, so Nori had lied about it being poisoned), “comes from these southern frogs. Bleeds right outta their skin an’ the locals put it in tiny bottles an’ sell it to folks like me. Worth its weight in gold and as hard t’ get yer hands on as stardust. Works in under a minute – locks up yer muscles as tight as wire an’ stops yer heart not long after.”

“It sounds atrocious.”

“Wait ‘til you hear about the others. This one’s usually a powder but I mix it with a little bit’a water t’ make it stick t’ the metal. It’ll knock you out cold and you’ll start convulsin’ and you’ll suffocate on account of yer lungs not workin’ anymore.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Swallow it, I ain’t done yet. This third one’s nice, comes from roots of a plant in the west - it’ll give you fever dreams b’fore blood starts comin’ outta every place you can think of.”

“Every place?” _Your knees are not wobbly,_ he told himself. _Don’t be a weak little kit._

“All at once, though I ‘aven’t seen folk really notice. Too lost in their own heads t’ notice, if y’ ask me, but I’ve only used it twice so I may be wrong. Fourth one does th’ same as th’ third, but it won’t kill ya. Fever dreams, bleedin’, but it’ll put ‘em into a deep death-sleep f’r a day or so. Plenty long enough to move ‘em or finish ‘em with a knife if you ‘ave a mind to. Jus’ remember to wrap ‘em up again when ye’r done, like I said.” Nori slipped his own needle into the pouch next to the others and left Bilbo holding them and looking more than a little bit green with his knees knocking together.

“They’re just for emergencies, right?” The hobbit rasped, tracing one of the symbols on the poison bottles with a delicate finger.

Nori shrugged. “Every fight is an emergency if y’ask me. If you might die seems like a good time t’ use whatever’s at hand.”

 _If it will save someone’s life? I’d use it without hesitation._ The sick feeling vanished the instant Bilbo imagined Fili crumpled at the feet of the bandit. He would use poison and every other backstabbing method every dreamed up to keep his family safe. _They aren’t your family here in this place and time, so don’t think like that. Not until everyone is safe and you’re well away again._

Small hands tightened on the deadly bundle before Bilbo twisted around and began fastening it to his belt, so that it hung at his side and he could easily reach in and pull out one of the needles that wasn’t poisoned. It gleamed in his fingers and he turned it over a couple times, accustoming his hand to the weight of the thing. It was lighter than the darts he was used to throwing, but not as heavy as a good skipping stone or a nine-pin ball. The hay bale with the cloth pinned to it made more sense now.

“Target practice?” He asked, glancing at Nori.

“Couple’a practice throws can’t hurt,” the thief said with a charming smile as he backed up a few paces. It was probably for the best – Bilbo knew that all Nori had to go on was his own claims of being good at darts. If the needle went flying off on his first throw nobody wanted to be in sticking range of the sharp ends.

It didn’t. As if he was drawing it out of the pouch, Bilbo curled his hand and flicked the needle at the haystack. It flipped end over end three times and plunged deeply into the hay, slicing through the very corner of the cloth target. Bilbo released the breath he’d been holding and checked his palm to make sure he hadn’t accidentally cut himself on the release.

“You’ll want t’ keep the poisoned end up, holdin’ it like this.” Nori stepped forward and showed Bilbo how to properly grasp the second needle. “S’not a dart, so the hold is different. We’ll get you a good pair’a gloves too, just in case.”

“Better safe than sorry I suppose.” Bilbo held onto the second needle like Nori had shown him and threw again. It sped towards the target like lightning and this time it hit a bit closer to the middle of the scrap.

Nori nodded in approval. “Not too bad. Bit’a practice and we’ll make a killer outta you yet.”

“Just what I always dreamed of,” Bilbo muttered as he threw two more needles in rapid succession, doing his best to aim with the increased weight in mind rather than on pure impulse. One of them ended up next to the first in the corner, but the other sank directly into the middle of the cloth and stuck there. Bilbo dusted off his hands with no small amount of pride. Who would have ever guessed that his talent for darts and throwing rocks would come in handy for more than aggravating giant spiders? And he had to admit that poisoned needles were probably a bit more effective than stones.

“You should practice on movin’ targets too. On a real enemy you’ll be aimin’ for th’ eyes and major arteries.” Nori ran a finger down the side of his neck. “Course poking one’a those most anywhere will usually work, it’s just faster in certain spots. Oi, Bombur! Come o’er here and let Bilbo have a few practice throws, eh? Live targets are always th’ best.”

The fat dwarf had been walking by on his way back to the house with his arms full of apples. “Not on your life!” He sped on his way, two or three of the apples falling out of his arms and rolling away into the grass. Bilbo tried not to laugh as he walked over and retrieved one, tossing it between his hands as he walked back over to where Nori was yanking the needles out of their makeshift target.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“Never claimed t’ be nice. Here.” He dropped the metal into Bilbo’s free hand and took the apple from him in return. “Though you know what is nice? Those nice suck marks on your neck. Get those as a present or did you pay ‘em back in kind?”

“Nori!” Bilbo nearly stabbed himself with the needles as he clapped his hands to the sides of his neck. His scarf usually covered that part of him so he’d been relatively confident that no one would notice the purple marks that decorated his neck and collarbones courtesy of Thorin’s mouth. Clearly he’d been wrong. “They’re just – I wasn’t – “

“I’m not interrogatin’ ye. Got a couple of my own, nothing wrong with a bit of bed play t’ take the edge off after a fight.” Nori pulled back his own collar to reveal dark bruises in the shape of teeth marks. Bilbo had a feeling he knew exactly who had put them there too and tried not to look too hard. There were simply some things he didn’t need to think about and whatever it was Nori and Dwalin got up to in their free time was one of those things. “Doubt anyone noticed that you didn’t come t’ bed last night. The lot of ‘em, well, most at any rate, went right t’ sleep without so much as a ‘good night’. Think we were all happy not t’ be sleeping on the ground again.”

“I can’t really blame them. But it was just a onetime thing, so I promise you’ll be finding me in my own bed tonight.” He’d managed to stay fairly well detached during most of the previous night and had done his best to view it as Thorin and Nori did – taking the edge off. There was little to no emotion involved and no risk of losing one’s heart just because of a night of sex. Sadly Bilbo’s had been lost long ago and that one night had worn at the brick wall he’d built around it. _It’s like a drug_ , he realized. _I couldn’t resist one taste, but two or three might do me in for good_.

It was much safer to leave it at once at keep his head on straight rather than risk distraction at the worst possible time. That had been the beginning and his end of anything to do with Thorin beyond their quest to reclaim the mountain.

“Now tha’s a shame. Is the king really such a bad lay that ye’d be done after once?”

Bilbo’s next needle went zipping off backwards and nearly stuck a sheep that’d been meandering by. It bleated in distress and bolted off for safer grazing.

“No! No of course he isn’t, it’s just that – “ He broke off and bought himself a bit of time by running back to retrieve the needle and shouting an apology after the sheep. “It’s just that I don’t think that I’m cut out for that sort of thing,” he finished.

Nori nodded sagely. “Too sore for more, eh?”

It was difficult, but Bilbo managed to keep from knocking Nori over the head with his fist like he would have done to any hobbit with the brass to say such a thing to his face. “I would wash your mouth out with soap if I had any on me.”

“Jus’ don’t stick me with with your new toys else we’ll really ‘ave a misunderstandin’. Now see if you can hit this.” The apple went spinning up into the air and Bilbo let his next needle fly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to traveling with the next chapter, so lots of mayhem and danger and feels yet to come! There was a specific passage in the book that I fixated on, about Bilbo being an excellent shot with just about anything he could get his hands on (you may recall that he used this against some spiders), so it made sense to me that any secondary weapon he used would play to this strength. Enjoy!


	35. The World Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

For four days the company rested, safe and full and comfortable thanks to Beorn’s hospitality. Not that they saw very much of their host – by day he could be found working around the beehives (where none of them dared to get too close) or in the barn with his horses. At night he was not to be seen, though Bilbo knew that was when Beorn roamed the forest and the fields in the form of a great black bear, larger than any sort of warg or beast he’d seen. One night while he sat outside smoking with Gandalf he thought that he saw a huge shape making its way through the wildflower fields and couldn’t help but remember how that very shape had reared above the great battle at the foot of Erebor, spears and arrows jutting from its shoulders and sides as it roared in defiance and slashed orcs and goblins alike clean in half with its claws. The giant could be a mighty ally indeed, and Bilbo wouldn’t have forsaken his food or his lodge for anything in the world.

Except late in the evening of their fourth day Gandalf insisted that they would be pressing on the following morning now that they were all fit to travel and their packs had been restocked. This was met with many a groan and grumble, but everyone knew that Erebor lay ahead and behind them there was only trouble to be had. Goblins and bandits alike would be bearing down on them should they linger much longer, determined to repay the injury that the company had caused to each side.

 _Not to mention Azog, who is probably snapping at our heels even now,_ Bilbo realized as he checked his pack the next morning. If that wasn’t a good cause for haste then he didn’t know what was. His pony looked back and snorted at him, as if it could tell that his thoughts had taken a morbid turn. Beorn had lent them the ponies and they were to carry the company as far as the edge of Mirkwood, for which Bilbo was heartily grateful. The creatures were study and fleet of foot and could cover the same amount of ground in one day as they might have done in three on foot. Bilbo’s own mount was a pretty little tan thing with a white belly and blaze down the middle of his face.

“I’ll call you Bill, if you don’t mind too terribly. My nephew told me about a pony they used on their own adventure who was a good sort, so you have rather large hooves to fill now.”

The pony seemed to think this over for a minute and then shook his head in an agreeable manner that had the hobbit smiling. That was one thing settled at least. The early morning air was thick with the smell of fog and grass and it reminded him very much of autumn mornings in the Shire, when the clouds would hang so low in the sky that they would seem to kiss the cornfields and everyone would stay inside for an extra ten minutes for a second cup of tea.

“Mount up! Let’s get a move on.” Thorin rode by on his own dark brown pony, looking about as happy to be up and on his way as a bear pulled out of its den in midwinter. Clearly there wouldn’t be a second cup of tea this morning. Luckily there had been enough time to wrap up breakfast in large napkins so that they could eat on the road. Bilbo’s own was tucked into his coat pocket and was warming up his side nicely, so there was little cause for him to be grumpy about their early start or bad-tempered leader.

Around him the dwarves pulled themselves into their saddles and settled in for what was bound to be a long ride until lunch. Gandalf was already happily situated atop his own much longer horse, chewing on orange segments and picking the white fleshy pulp of it out of his beard.

“Good-bye!” He called back to the dogs and the sheep who were watching them go. A couple of them waved back and the litter of puppies started to whine and howl. “Thank you for being so helpful!” They had been, in fact. Over the last few days Bilbo had spent most of his time cooking over Beorn’s hearth. The dogs had shown him how to make the honey cakes that they had with most meals, as well as a sticky bar made with nuts, dried fruits, crushed oats, and all held together by honey. It was very filling for its small size and Bilbo had made several batches of these and secreted them away between everyone’s packs. They had run out of supplies long before they reached Thranduil’s kingdom last time and Bilbo didn’t relish the thought of feeling that overwhelming hunger again anytime soon. The extra supplies would help them get a little bit further.

With Gandalf and Balin in the lead, the company made their slow way towards the gate in the hedges that would take them outside of Beorn’s home. Fili and Kili were already munching on their toast and egg sandwiches and busy making bits of fried egg hang out of their mouths like tongues, which they would blow on to make them flop around until Dwalin knocked Fili over the head and he nearly spit his out. Bilbo tried not to laugh and broke of a piece of the crust of his own sandwich to nibble on as they passed by the hedge. The gate swung shut behind them and finally they were on their way again.

“Burglar. A word.”

Well, almost on their way. The toast crust got caught in his throat and Bilbo pounded on his chest and coughed to clear it again. Bombur patted him on the back as he rode by and gave him a sympathetic look before moving on. Bofur wasn’t any help at all, since he just whispered ‘ooh, you’re in trouble!’ and then left Bilbo to fall back to the end of the line where Thorin rode.  

It wasn’t so much that he’d been avoiding the king for the last few days per say, he’d just found things to do that kept him well away from wherever Thorin was. The dwarf rarely ventured into the kitchens except during meals and the rest of his time was spent sparring or repairing damaged weaponry. As for the evenings, Bilbo had made a habit of staying up late with Gandalf and Balin and then having the convenient excuse of being absolutely exhausted so that he could crawl into his own small bed in the corner. Not that he wanted to. It was far less comfortable than Thorin’s mattress and he already missed the sensation of waking up pressed against a warm body. He had stuck to his resolve not to give in to the king’s charms again though, and that meant a cold bed and no security at all except for the emerald ring that he kept tucked in his vest pocket to remind him of his duty and the trust placed in him. It was a cold comfort.

Why did being in love have to be so troublesome? The worst sort of things could happen when one’s head was clouded by it and the closer he grew to Thorin the greater the chances of being caught in his lie would be. What if he let something slip in the wee small hours of the morning? Already it was a trial to not say anything about the danger they were riding towards, about the hunger and the darkness and the spiders, let alone the orcs on their trail. Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as Thorin rode up next to him and took a steadying breath. He would be strong. He would be firm in his choices and stick by them, even if he didn’t like it. It was the only thing he could do.

“I didn’t forget my handkerchief this time; I have three of them in my bag.” His feeble attempt at a joke fell flat when Thorin’s face didn’t budge from its stern lines. The dwarf had sought him out twice more during their stay, clearly attempting to figure out exactly what had happened between them to make Bilbo spurn his nighttime company. When each time Bilbo had found an excuse to run away without an explanation (since he doubted Thorin would understand his reasoning) Thorin had seemed to give up and after that hadn’t so much as given him a sideways glance for the last two days. It had made things both easier and infinitely more painful for Bilbo, knowing that he had broken off what he had yearned after for so long.

“I wasn’t going to ask after your pocket kerchiefs. They’re the least of my concerns at this time.”

“Ah. Well then.” Bilbo sunk a bit lower in his saddle and tried not to make eye contact.

"What I wanted was to make sure your mind was stable and it stays that way."

“My mind?” Bilbo asked in confusion. That had been the last thing he’d expected. “I imagine that it’s alright, why wouldn’t it be?”

"I want you to understand that from here on out you cannot be a distraction."

There were several heartbeats of silence during which Bilbo’s mind raced furiously trying to make sense of what he’d just been told. Thorin wanted him in a solid enough mental state that he could understand that he couldn’t be a _distraction_? When he was the one who was worried about the one being distracted in the first place? A steady throb started up in Bilbo’s temples, though he did his best to keep from frowning since that would just put them both on the defensive.

“I don’t recall ever being a distraction before now. You assume a lot, _your majesty_ , that sleeping together once would have changed that.”

"Then there won't be any problems." Thorin kept his somber expression forward. "I need you as a burglar. Erebor needs to be the top priority of every member of this company."

_You ended it and now I’m ending any chance of starting again. Don’t distract me or the company or you’ll have become a liability._

It wasn’t hard to read between the lines.

“Erebor is and has always been my ‘top priority’, as you put it. More than you know. Is there anything else?”

Thorin seemed satisfied with the response and accepted that he and Bilbo had reached an understanding and he shook his head, completely oblivious to the hobbit's shift in mood. "No, that was all."

“I suppose we’re done in that case.” Bilbo gave Bill a tap with his heels and the pony picked up his pace until they were both well away from the most unbelievably dense king who had ever roamed over the Misty Mountains.

For nearly an hour he chewed on his bottom lip, until it cracked and bled and his breakfast had gone stone cold in his pocket. Was it resentment that was making him so twisted up? Maybe a bit. Hurt? More than a bit. It seemed a bit ironic to be put down in this way when he had been trying to do the same thing for the last few days. Neither of them needed the stress of any sort of relationship, he reminded himself. The focus, as Thorin had so clearly put it, was on the quest. The mountain. The dragon and the crown.

Not on the tight fist that had closed around his heart when Thorin had called him ‘burglar’.

_One night won’t make him start using your name, you know. One night that you very clearly made the only night and were just told to leave in the past._

“Don’t fret o’er it too much, laddie. Thorin has always been…”

“Thick headed?”   Bilbo glanced over at Balin, who offered him a sympathetic smile. There was no way the old dwarf could have heard what they were talking about since he had been riding at the front, but it wasn’t hard to see that some sort of rift had been created between the burglar and the king. Thorin was now glued to Dwalin’s side at the front of the company while Bilbo had fallen all the way to the back and had begun to lag, lost in his own head.

“The word ‘driven’ is brought to mind.” The old dwarf leaned back in his saddle, his back nestled against his bed roll. “Ever since Smaug came to Erebor his father and his grandfather thought of little but reclaiming their home. Thorin was a mere twenty four years of age when we were forced into the wilds, a child by our standards. I was with him for most of it, but not all. Thror and Thrain were as driven as he is now, and they infected him with their dreams of victory. They only grew stronger in him when they fell.”

“I know,” murmured Bilbo, sucking on his bloody lip. “It isn’t his fault – “

“Now I’m not sayin’ that,” interrupted Balin. “One thing I learned at his side is that a prince is a prince, whether he has a throne or not. He can be as rude and pig headed as any dwarf, and a bit more so when he’s upset. And I’ll tell you – these last few days? He’s been nigh unbearable.”

Bilbo couldn’t help the petty feeling of satisfaction that spread through him at that. At least he hadn’t been the only one upset. “It’s still nothing though. I’m a burglar, along to do a burglar’s job and that’s the end of it. Anything more than that is simply _distracting_.”

“Hmm, maybe not _just_ a burglar.”  Balin raised his eyebrows meaningfully before he kicked his pony forward and left Bilbo staring after him.

He couldn’t know, could he? Surely this was still about his dealings with Thorin or his eventual role in taking the mountain back. That had to be it. Bilbo nodded and nudged Bill forward again to catch back up to the back of the pony line, singing softly to himself.

“Long is the road that leads me home 

And longer still when I walk alone. 

Bitter is the thought of all that time 

Spent searching for something I'll never find.

Take this burden away from me 

And bury it before it buries me. ”

__________________________________

The mornings grew progressively cooler with each morning they awoke. Three nights they spent under the stars, wrapped up in their bedrolls with their heads pillowed on their coats and the ponies grazing nearby, with a small grass-fed fire flickering in the middle. Bilbo found his bedtime company claimed by Fili and Kili with a surprising regularity, though they both claimed they were simply protecting him from any passing wolves who wanted a quick snack. Bilbo noticed that there were no teasing grabs in the dark as there would have once been, though. Either Thorin had warned the two brothers off or they had done away with any designs on the company’s hobbit. If he had been the betting sort (which he could be in the right situations) he would have put a coin or two on the second, since he was the one who woke up with Fili’s hair tickling his nose and Kili snoring into his vest, both of them pressed to his sides like children.

During the days they saw nothing except long grasses and birds that darted between the scattered trees. Once Ori spotted a heard of red deer who were lounging in the shade, but no one felt much need to disturb them by shooting. It would simply make them lose time to dress the carcass and they had nothing to smoke it over in the middle of the day. The deer watched them go without as much as an ear flick of interest.

Early on the fourth day they reached the forest. It had been visible the evening before, when they made camp, but no one wanted to venture into that wall of darkness with the sky already growing dark. Even Gandalf had seemed uneasy and that night the air had been thick with the cries of bats and the growls of unseen beasts that dwelled in Mirkwood. Even the next morning they had been slower to repack their things and mount the ponies, dragging their heels more and more until they finally stood at the foot of the gnarled old trees and faced the all-encompassing darkness that lay beyond. It almost seemed as though the forest was swallowing up every trace of sunlight that managed to break through the thick boughs, leaving none for the root-twisted floor. Nothing grew but the trees and the thin strands of ivy that climbed up the trunks and no birdsong came from the pitch.

“That watching and waiting feeling,” Bilbo remembered. He’d felt it before, when he had stood in this very spot so long ago, feeling very sorry for himself and wishing for more breakfast. Now he wasn’t hungry at all.  

“Well, here is Mirkwood!” said Gandalf. “The greatest of the forests of the Northern world. I hope you like the look of it. Now you must send back these excellent ponies you have borrowed.”

Bilbo was very sorry to see Bill go, but he knew that Beorn cherished his beasts as if they were his own children and wouldn’t take kindly to have them absconded with. The idea of an angry shape shifter pursuing them into Mirkwood wasn’t a pleasant thought at all, so Bilbo relieved his mount of its packs and then gave it one last scratch on the nose and a few quiet words of thanks for making the journey more bearable than it might have been otherwise. A few members of the company weren’t at all happy to have to send the ponies home and were very vocal about it until Gandalf pointed out that should Beorn decide to come after them to reclaim the animals, it would be very unlikely that they would ever reach the other side of Mirkwood completely whole. That silenced any complaints and the ponies were very quickly sent on their way. Even as Bilbo watched a dark shape broke off from the forest and followed after them, lumbering along on four legs as large as some of the trees before them. Beorn looked after what was his.

That was also were the company (Bilbo excluded because he had been waiting for this) discovered that they wouldn’t only be leaving the ponies behind.

“I have some pressing business in the south,” Gandalf told them, looking very important atop his borrowed horse. “And I am already late through looking after the lot of you. With any luck we will meet again at some later date, but until that day comes it will be up to Mister Baggins to look after you. I have told you before that he has more about him than you guess, and you will find that out before long.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need to happen,” Bilbo muttered under his breath as he shouldered his rucksack.

“And remember! Don’t stray from the path or you’re not likely to ever find it again and then I doubt we’ll meet on any day in the future. Keep your spirits up, hope for the best, and with a bit of luck you might just make it out in one piece. Good-bye!”

With that their wizard was gone, riding off into the West and leaving them standing amongst the twisted roots of Mirkwood with their heavy packs and their heavier hearts. Now they really were on their own.

When Gandalf was finally lost from view Bilbo heaved a great sigh. “Well, I suppose we’d best be on our way before the sun is gone again.”

There was general (if not entirely happy) agreement and with that the company turned their backs to the light and plunged into the forest. It didn’t take long for them to disappear into the darkness. 


	36. As Twilight Fades to Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

On average hobbits spent about half of their lives underground. Their homes were generally built into the sides of hills and had a generous layer of dirt and grass over the tops to keep them nicely cool in the summer and toasty warm in the winter. Between time spent sleeping and cooking and avoiding the hottest parts of the day by retreating indoors most hobbits were very comfortable with spending time in enclosed and dark places.

Not so with Mirkwood. Bilbo doubted any hobbit had traveled in or out of the forest in several hundred years. Even the adventurous sort tended to avoid such blatantly dangerous places, but in his case he had little choice in the matter. There was no quick way around the dark woods and they had passed the Edge of the Wild long ago. Even the clear paths weren’t safe. So it was that the beasts and bugs of Mirkwood got their first look at a hobbit (and quite a lot of dwarves) as they picked their way down the trail, stepping over exposed roots and grumbling quietly to themselves about the fickleness of wizards and wondering when they were going to stop for lunch and looking back over their shoulders to make sure nothing was creeping up behind them. Bilbo for one kept his eyes pointed a bit more upwards than the others, scanning the thick branches for any traces of webbing or legs. All too well he remembered how the spiders had snatched them up like plump lady bugs when they were lost and hungry and that was one fate he was determined to avoid. There were webs, nasty thick things in the branches and stretched between whole tress, but there was no sign of their spinners nor did any of the webs encroach on the path. Whatever danger or magic warded the way through seemed to keep the nasty creatures at bay, or at least for now.

Even with the fragile beams of sunlight that broke through the branches to light their way, the travel was slow. Every root they passed seemed determined to trip somebody up and the path was little more than a strip of slightly worn down earth and was nearly impossible to see in some places. More than once they had to backtrack a bit because they had accidentally wandered off it and nearly gotten lost.

“Can you see very well?” Bilbo murmured to Bofur about five hours into their first day’s walk. He had been sticking close to the miner’s side, remembering how much better his companionship had made him feel while traversing the underground river to Gollum’s cave. But even Bofur’s usually high spirits had been dampened by the wet darkness.

“Nah, s’not the same kinda dark I’m used to. No moon, no torch, none of th’ right echoes t’ tell where yer goin’. Woods dark is different than cave dark, so I’ll be fallin’ on mah nose as often as you.” The dwarf pulled his hat a little bit lower on his head and shot a nervous glance over his shoulder. Balin and Thorin walked in the front, slicing away at branches that hung too low for them to see where they were going, while Bifur, Dwalin, and Gloin had fallen to the back with their weapons close at hand. No one was happy here and every corner they rounded seemed to promise an ambush or horror waiting to leap out of the darkness to consume them.

But none appeared.

The near-constant tension was exhausting. Being spooked by every rustling in the underbrush or creak of the tress left the company feeling high strung and irritable and the call to stop and make camp was met with sighs of relief. The light had begun to fade and no one wanted to try to follow the path once the sun had set completely. Gloin tried to light a fire, but the wood was all damp and it stank and let off quite a lot of black smoke. What little warmth and light it gave off simply served to attract the thousands of moths who seemed to have been waiting for such a thing. The descended on the camp in a huge swarm and the company hurriedly stomped out the little fire while trying their best to keep the bugs from getting into their clothes and eyes.

“I forgot about that part,” Bilbo muttered to himself as he pulled one of them out of the neck of his shirt and tossed it away, feeling very unhappy and more than a little hungry. When something massive swooped down directly in front of him he couldn’t help but shriek and cover his eyes. The bats were as bad as the moths – they were bigger than he was an as black as midnight. They ate the moths but seemed large enough to carry off one of the dwarves if they’d had a mind to. That night and every night following the company huddled together without a fire and took their comfort in having a living body at their sides. It wasn’t pleasant or comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but it was better than summoning the moths and bats back again. 

For days they traveled, the monotony and ill humor of the forest weighing down on everyone’s spirits. There were no animals to be seen except for some stringy, mean-looking squirrels, but thanks to the extra rations they had packed (on Bilbo’s advice since none of them knew how far the forest stretched) no one was hungry enough to try to shoot them down.

“Besides,” Bilbo said as he and Bofur and Kili watched one hiss at them and dash away, “they probably taste terrible if they live in a place like this.”

To keep themselves entertained the dwarves mostly spoke of Erebor. Several members of the company had never seen the mountain before; including Fili and Kili for all that its throne was their birthright. Dwalin liked to speak about the armory and the great halls he had once patrolled as a guard while Thorin and Frerin did their best to trip him up on his rounds by stringing wires across hallways and flicking things at him when he wasn’t looking. The story made everyone laugh for a little while. Bilbo had a hard time imagining Thorin every being as carefree as Dwalin described. It seemed he’d once had much more in common with his nephews before time and battle had beaten it out of him. As for the rest of the dwarves, they contented themselves with dreaming about the treasure chamber and laughing about what good luck they would have if they arrived to find Smaug dead and the mountain unguarded.

 _That would be good luck indeed,_ thought Bilbo. Sadly it wasn’t going to happen. Even now he knew that Smaug simply slumbered, buried in mountains of gold and silver and rivers of gemstones with them plastered up against his belly in a shining coat of armor the likes of which did not exist anywhere else in Middle Earth. And he was the lucky burglar who got to go in first to figure out what to do about him.

It was their water that began to run out first.

Ori noticed it when he went to take a drink and found water skin less than a quarter full. They had refilled them all before starting into Mirkwood, but there had been no safe place to do the same since they had started more than a week ago. Rationing was all well and good, but lips had begun to crack and throats had gone dry since only a few sips were allotted every day. Those sips had added up and packs had gotten noticeably lighter as their water and rations began to run low.

“I’ve been hungry before,” Ori murmured as he tucked away his water skin and looked down at his mitten-covered hands. “That’s alright. But I don’t think that I like being thirsty very much. Oh, I wish it would rain…”

If it did rain none of it managed to reach them through the thick canopy and when they finally did make it to water it was the sort that Bilbo wouldn’t have put in his mouth for every fine tea cup in the world.

“This must be the river that Beorn warned us about,” Thorin said, voicing what all of them had been thinking as they stood on the bank of the enchanted river. Perhaps through some trick of the dim light the waters appeared as black as ink and Bilbo doubted that any fish could survive in them. A single drop would make the drinker fall into a deep sleep and they would lose memories depending on how much of the drink they had indulged in. Sadly Bombur had gotten quite a mouthful when he had fallen in last time, spooked by a -

Bilbo narrowed his eyes and scanned the woods across the river, looking for any sign that the troublemaking deer was about, but he saw nothing but glittering insect eyes looking back at him.

“What are you looking for?” Dori asked from beside him, squinting as if he could make out the far bank as well.

“Nothing, thought I heard something,” Bilbo said briskly. Maybe they had made good enough time that they wouldn’t be run down this time and risk one of the company having a tumble into the hexed water. “Is that a boat over there? Tied up on the other side?”

It was a masterful subject change if he did say so himself.

There was indeed a boat and Bilbo received several pats on the back for having such sharp eyes, for no one else had been able to see the shape of the little river boat in the gloom. A bit of guilt took root in the hobbit and he ducked his head and ran away to the back of the group so that he didn’t have to listen to the others talk about how ‘useful’ he was. Somehow he felt like he had peeked at the back of the story to see how it ended and was simply using it to make things easier without telling anyone. Of course, it hadn’t been his idea to cheat fate in the first place, but it was the little things like this that made him feel absolutely terrible for deceiving everyone.

 _I’m not really that useful!_ He wanted to shout. _I’m fat and comfortable and I like to cook and every important thing I’ve ever tried to do has turned around on me and gone terribly wrong!_

His only real use came from his foreknowledge and if anyone ever found out about that his life would essentially be over. The trust of the company would be lost. Thorin’s trust, for what it was worth. All he would be good for was for telling them what was coming next, and that could very well doom the entire quest. What would the dwarves have done if he’d warned them about the trolls or goblin town? No doubt they would have charged in with their swords drawn and then have been defeated and eaten before ever crossing the Misty Mountains. Better to stay silent and live with the guilt of knowing the dangers that lay ahead rather than ruin the entire venture.

The dwarves decided that while Dori may have been the strongest of the company it was most definitely Fili and Kili who had the sharpest eyes of everyone, with the exception of Bilbo since he couldn’t have thrown a rope all the way across the deep rushing water to reach the boat. In the end it was Fili who managed to hook the thing with a grappling hook and, with the help of Kili, Oin, and Gloin, tow the craft back to their own bank. It was tied to the opposite side and everyone went tumbling onto their backsides when the rope fastening it there finally snapped and the craft went zipping across the dark water to where the rest of them stood.

“I wonder whose boat it is?” Bilbo mused as the dwarves picked themselves up and brushed moss and dirt off of their trousers, looking more than a little irritated at their little trip backwards.

“Who cares?” Cried Bombur as they walked down to the edge of the water. “It’s not as though we plan to sink it, so they can’t begrudge us borrowing it for a few minutes.”

Thorin was standing off to the side with his arms crossed, looking rather irritable. “I’ll cross first, and Fili, Balin and Bilbo with me. We’ll check the other shore for danger before – “

“Excuse me!” Bilbo interrupted with his hand raised. All eyes turned to him and he suddenly felt more than a little bit uncomfortable. “So sorry. I’d just like to say that I’d much prefer to cross last if it’s all the same to anyone. I’m not the best at checking for danger and we hobbits aren’t good friends with water, especially the deep and fast flowing kind. It would make much more sense to take Gloin if you ask em, he’s a much better fighter in case there turns out to be something dangerous.”

Glojn puffed up with importance and there were murmurs of agreement amongst the others. It was true that Bilbo was one of the least useful people when it came to a head-on fight, though he had proved to be very handy in sneak attacks. While he had managed to free them all from bandits and done his best to get them out of the storage room under the mountain, Bilbo’s main fighting tactic had always proved to be ‘swing his sword around and hope for the best’. He had indeed improved with his needle throwing thanks to the days of practice at Beorn’s house, but needles weren’t swords or axes and took time to take effect. Although Thorin looked mutinous they eventually agreed to send Gloin over in the first boat instead and that Bilbo would be in the last group along with Bombur.

“Are all hobbits really that bad at swimming?” Oin asked curiously, leaning in close with his ear trumpet raised to catch Bilbo’s reply.

The hobbit had settled himself on a root, his eyes fixed on the opposite bank as Fili and Glojn clambered into the boat to steady it for Balin. “Not all of us actually, mostly those of Harfoot descent. There are different kinds of hobbits though – those who have Stoor blood in them tend to be better with water and live along rivers to be fishermen and whatnot. You find quite a lot of them in Bree and Buckland, and a fair few of their children in the Southfarthing.” He smiled at the old healer and rubbed his chin. “Some of them can even grow beards if they put their mind to it, and they wear these great old boots so their feet aren’t always getting wet.”

Oin made an interested sound and sat down next to him with a groan. “So there are different kinds of hobbits? Fancy that. I’d say you aren’t one of these Stoor-type folk if you’re in no hurry to cross.” He nodded at the river and Bilbo made no attempt to disguise his shudder and look of distaste.

“No, no Stoor in me. My father was a simple Harfoot and would have drowned in the bathtub if it had been deep enough. We tend to sink as if we were wearing shoes made out of iron – straight to the bottom. I fell in a pond when I was just a kit and my mum had to jump in after me and drag me out again while wearing her pearls and Sunday dress. She said that I’d just been sitting on the bottom watching the sun beams.” Bilbo smiled at his knees, suddenly missing Belladonna with a sharp, fierce ache reserved for mothers.

The two of them watched as the first boatload of dwarves towed themselves across the river, making sure not to get a single drop on their bare skin. When they had disembarked on the other side and checked the bushes and trees, Dwalin and Dori pulled the boat back to their side with the tow rope and Oin got to his feet with a grumble so that he could join them in the second crossing. Bilbo tried not to bite his fingernails as he watched with his heart in his mouth as he waited for something to go wrong. Maybe the deer wouldn’t show up this time and bowl them all over, but something else was bound to happen that he hadn’t been able to plan for. That seemed to be the law for this time around – he could prevent some things but he always paid for avoiding trouble in the most spectacular way possible. He had traded goblins for thieves and orcs for bandits. How would he pay this time for trying to help?

Every time the boat came back sweat rolled down his neck to his kerchief and dampened the palms of his hands and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but sit on his root and pray until it was at last his turn and it was only himself and Bombur who were left on the shore. The rest of the dwarves waved and hollered at them from the opposite bank and Bilbo finally shuffled into the little boat after Bombur and sat himself as low as he could.

“Don’t worry,” Bombur said with a jovial smile, clearly pleased about not being left until the very last yet again. “The rest made it across and if Kili could do it without jittering himself right out of the boat we can too.”

That made Bilbo snort hard enough to hurt his nose and before he’d finished rubbing it they had already been towed halfway across the river and were in the middle of the current. Had he been too tired and hungry to be properly terrified the first time around? Now he was petrified. What if he fell in? Maybe he simply hadn’t been smart enough to be afraid – now he knew about the deep sleep and memory loss brought on by the water and that was something he could not afford.

“Come on, nearly there!” Fili called. 

“If I fall in, please tell Thorin that he’s a clot head for me, would you?” Bilbo looked up at Bombur and the fat dwarf winked at him before turning in his seat to catch Bifur’s hand as they finally reached the shore. The boat rocked and rattled a bit as Bombur disembarked, but after a moment of pulling and disorganization there were thirteen dwarves all gathered on dry land without a slip to be had and Bilbo finally breathed a sigh of relief. That was one adventure he was happy to be finished with.

“Let’s go Mister Boggins, can’t have you holding everybody up!” Kili teased as he reached out for Bilbo’s hand.

That was when he heard it – the sound of crashing through the underbrush, loud and growing more so as it got closer.

“Kili!” Thorin shouted and immediately Kili left off trying to pull Bilbo out of the boat and seized his bow, fitting an arrow as the stag came charging out of the underbrush, heading straight for the company with its antlers lowered. It was a massive creature, with powerful shoulders and hindquarters and antlers that would have made even seasoned hunters stare in awe. Every dwarf leapt out of the way as it plowed through them towards the river and the little boat bobbing at its edge.

“Don’t shoot!” Bilbo cried even as it bore down on him, hooves slashing at the air. Frozen, the hobbit could do nothing but stare as the stag gathered itself and leapt, using the edge of the boat as a springboard to propel itself clear across the river to the other side. If Bilbo hadn’t been so busy tumbling head over heels he might have been amazed to see how close he came to having his head bashed in by the stag’s hooves as it sailed over him.

Instead he only had time for one strangled yelp before he was falling face-first towards what was left of their rapidly sinking boat.

_This is it. If I don’t drown I’ll forget everything. I’ll forget –_

All of a sudden his necktie went taught as a noose and his thoughts were cut off as quickly as his air supply. Feeling like his neck was about to snap and with his stomach in his mouth, Bilbo was unceremoniously hauled forward onto the shore and into a very hard body, sending both of them backwards and into the mud with a splat. Wheezing, Bilbo scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve and gawked down at Thorin, who was lying underneath him with mud splashed all over his coat and what was left of Bilbo’s necktie clutched in his hand. They stared at each other for a long moment while the rest of the company picked themselves up and shouted rude words after the deer.

“I’m not going to forget you,” Bilbo whispered when he could finally breathe again. “Never.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to add a fair bit more onto this chapter, but Veskasa convinced me to cram all of the torture and suffering into the next chapter instead of splitting it up over two. So now you know what you have to look forward to!


	37. The Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Gore, Extreme Violence, Battle

There were some things that Bilbo Baggins knew for certain. He knew exactly when to pick tomatoes so that they would be the most delicious. He knew how to mend scraped knees and soothe broken hearts. He knew how to sit quietly and listen.

And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to die here, half drowned in a muddy puddle with the sound of his own screams ringing in his ears and darkness closing in on him from all sides. This time there was no one to save him and no way for him to save himself. Sting had fallen from his hand long ago and the needles that Nori had given him were scattered, lost in the rain puddles and wet leaves, leaving him with nothing to protect himself with. There was mud in his mouth and nose and eyes, blinding him, and every time he opened his mouth to scream he simply choked on more water.

“No! Let me go!” He screamed, desperately lashing backwards with his foot, but something crunched and he shrieked with pain, agony the likes of which he hadn’t known before consuming him. The coppery scent of blood reached him through the mud and rot, making him sick to his stomach. All around him there was noise – shouting, screams, and a horrible, brutal laughter, but none of it made any sense to him now. Everything had narrowed down to its basest form for Bilbo, leaving only the need to escape and to hide in the smallest hole he could manage to fit himself in. The whites showed all the way around his eyes as he clawed at the soggy ground only to be dragged backwards again and then hoisted into the air by his foot.

Fetid breath washed over him and he nearly gagged, tears pouring up over his forehead as he was held upside down. Every nerve in his leg was alive and screaming with pain as huge teeth dug deeper and deeper into his flesh to hold him up. 

“ _Akashuga_ ,” said a voice from above him, a voice he recognized from his nightmares.

Azog.

“Please, _please_ ,” he whispered, not sure what he was begging for. The orc wasn’t merciful. The moment he was done toying with his catch Bilbo would probably end up as a snack that screamed for his warg, whose mouth he was currently hanging out of.

“Bilbo!” He thought he heard someone scream, but it was almost inaudible over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. There was nothing he could do. He had no backup plan for this, no trick hidden in his pockets or up his sleeves. Even the Ring couldn’t help him here – turning invisible wouldn’t get him free.

At least he wouldn’t go out crying. With every last shred of energy he possessed, Bilbo curled up and seized the beast’s nose, pulling at the sensitive tissue and digging in with his fingernails until the white warg yelped and dropped him. It wasn’t a long fall, but Bilbo had the misfortune to land feet-first and instantly crumpled, his legs going straight out from under him in a flash of searing pain. He may have screamed. It didn’t matter though, because he felt cool metal press up against his forearm when he pushed himself up and scrambled for the loose needle even as Azog and his mount reared over him, the warg’s mouth open wide as it lunged at its fallen prize.

From somewhere in the forest there was the sound of a single horn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm working on the next chapter right now, where all will be explained. Hate me if you must, but know that I'm not sorry at all.


	38. Healer of the Woodland Realm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Tending of Hurts, Recap of Violence

“ – after him – “

_“Mallen pelu e' n'alaquel en' sen!”_

“Get you filthy hands off – “

_“Tira ten' rashwe!”_

”Bind them, bring ano – “

“ – too much, my – “

“Don’t touch him!”

“ – faster, you have to help...shouldn’t move him like this, but we have to hurry or else - “

“Bilbo!”

__________________________________

“What!” Bilbo shot straight up like a jackhammer and then groaned, grinding the palms of his hands into his eyes to stave off the wave of dizziness and nausea that swamped him. The last time he’d felt this hung over he’d offered to try Fatty’s newest batch of homemade spirits and he hadn’t made it home until the moon had set the next day.

“I’m never drinking again. Or at the very least not until next week.” he moaned without opening his eyes, flopping backwards and pulling the blankets up to his neck so that he could properly ball himself up and sleep away his pain. A nice long nap and he’d be back to his old self – his foot caught on something before he made it onto his side and he made a face into his pillow. Tugging fruitlessly for a moment Bilbo wondered if he’d somehow balled himself up in his sheets enough to get stuck or Frodo had put socks on him again while he was sleeping. The rascal. No one in the Shire wore socks but his nephew got a kick out of putting them on him while he was napping just to watch his poor uncle trip over his own toes trying to get them off again. Just what he needed on top of his hangover.

“Frodo, I’ve told you before that if you insist on buying socks at market to torment me with I’ll be forced to – “

“Ah, you’ve awoken,” came a cool voice that was most definitely not his nephew. Startled, Bilbo froze in place with his face pressed into his pillow for a moment before rolling back onto his back and cracking his eyes open do that he wouldn’t make himself sick again. An unfamiliar elf with a narrow face and long, dark hair stood at the foot of a bed that wasn’t his cozy four-poster in Bag End. White sheets covered him from the waist down with the exception of his right leg, which was suspended in a simple sling by a wooden frame.

“Y-yes?” Bilbo stuttered, staring down at the bandages that wrapped him all the way up to his knee. No wonder he’d thought he was wearing socks. “What happened? Where am I?” His head was swimming like goldfish in a glass bowl, trying to piece together the floating bits of memory that he had left. They’d crossed the river. He’d almost fallen in and Thorin had caught him. Then?

Nothing.

“You are resting in the infirmary of the Woodland Realm, ruled by the Elvenking. It is by his grace and mercy that you still draw breath, for he came upon you during a royal hunt and saw fit to drive away the orcs.” The elf’s face reflected the barest hint of a sneer on the last word, as if it had tasted bad in his mouth. “I am Lanthiron, head healer in this kingdom.”

“I see,” Bilbo replied weakly, leaning back into the soft pillows behind him. How could he have lost that much time? “I’m afraid I don’t remember very much.”

Lanthiron nodded and moved to the side of the bed, his hands folded serenely in front of him. “That is to be expected. You went through substantial trauma before our lord arrived, including a blow to the head if the stories of your companions are to be believed.”

That was enough to snap Bilbo back to the present. “My compa – yes! Are they here? Are they alright?” He asked frantically, his hands balling up in the sheets as he tried to sit up again. A particularly nasty throb went through his hip and sent him back again, gasping with pain.

I think that perhaps a bit more medicine would do you good. We have never had the opportunity to use them on halflings before, so it was unknown how much we should administer to you to alleviate your pain. I will call for another dose, please do not distress yourself further.” Lanthiron leaned down and lifted up a glass bottle filled with some acidic-looking green concoction.

“I beg your pardon!” Bilbo snapped, not at all happy with the proceedings. ”I wake up, I’m hurt, I’m stuck in a bed that isn’t my own, and you won’t tell me anything about the dwarves I’ve been traveling with! How do you expect me not to be distressed? And now you want to drug me because I’m worried! I’ve seen better manners from goblins!”

“I think that you’ve had quite enough excitement for the moment, Master Halfling. I am simply doing as I see fit to ensure your continuing health. Please open your mouth.” The elf pushed a spoon filled with the green medicine towards him but Bilbo mulishly shut it instead, refusing to be bullied by some overgrown Sindar. More than he wanted to know what had happened he wanted to know what the fate of the dwarves had been, and he wasn’t going to learn that if he was flying as high as a kite or unconscious because of what the healer was trying to make him swallow.

“You insist on being difficult about this?” The healer prompted, still holding out the spoon as if he expected Bilbo to lean forward and meekly take his medicine.

It was a trick. Bilbo had used it on Frodo more than once when he’d had colds or the flu – wait until the patient opened their mouth to answer and then quickly slip the spoonful of medicine in their mouths, much to their disgust. Instead the hobbit nodded sharply, refusing to be baited. Lanthiron wasn’t pleased by his infantile obstinacy, judging by his mildly disgusted expression.

“If I bring one of these dwarves to you to speak for a moment will you see sense and allow me to tend to you properly?” The spoon retreated.

Another nod and Bilbo’s heart began to race.

Lanthiron sighed and set the medicine back on the carved wooden table next to the bed. “I will have the guards bring one up, though you should know that you will be watched to ensure your safety. We have no quarrel with halflings, even ones trespassing in the Greenwood, but it is for our Lord to decide your fate once you are well. Until then you are my charge. Do not –“ he added as he glided out the high door out of the sick room, “attempt to rise. You may cause more damage than I will be able to properly mend.”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere!” Bilbo called after him before flopping back again and leveling a dark look at his suspended foot. Now he recognized the fog in his head as that which accompanied athelas, a powerful painkiller that was created by grinding a common herb into a paste and then extracting the juice of it. No doubt that was what was sitting in the bottle at his elbow. Carefully he lifted a hand and probed at his head. A thick bandage was wrapped around his temples; pressing most of his hair flat to his skull and making it itch terribly. The head trauma the healer had mentioned. How had he gotten it though? Snippets of words surfaced when he concentrated, some screaming, but the rest remained stubbornly hidden and eluded his every attempt to retrace his steps. Bilbo blew out a frustrated breath and crossed his arms, alternating between looking at his foot and back at the door, wondering who would be brought to see him. If it was Bifur he would be out of luck since he didn’t speak a word of Khuzdul and didn’t feel up to interpreting the dwarf’s sign language, although even Bifur would be better than being left on his own and imagining the worst.

Minutes passed, agonizingly long.

Of all of the rooms and halls and twisting passages of the Woodland Realm, the infirmary was unfamiliar to Bilbo. He had never wandered here when he had skulked, invisible, through the place on his first visit. Most of his time had been spent in the kitchens and the dungeons when he wasn’t trying to find a way to escape. The had been long, stressful weeks and he had lost more than two stone of weight just because he was only able to eat what he could steal or what the company managed to slip him from their own meager prison rations. He had slept in cold corners, curled up under his coat, and lived in a near constant state of paranoia that he would be discovered and imprisoned. Laying in a comfortable bed and being fussed over felt more strange than any of that and now that very same paranoia had returned, wondering when the other tea cup would drop.

Finally the sound of footsteps reached his ears and he held his breath in anticipation. Lanthiron reappeared at the door, his head turned as he sternly lectured whoever was behind him.

“You are not to linger for long, only until my patient has been assured enough to accept further treatment. Please do not touch or jostle him or attempt to give him anything that may compromise his health, as he is in a very delicate state.”

“I am not delicate!” Bilbo called.

“Mister Baggins?” Came a voice and Bilbo almost shouted with joy as a squat dwarf with a long white beard peered around the healer’s robes.

“Balin!”

“Ah, there ye are laddie! We were all wonderin’ where you’d been whisked off to and they wouldn’t say a word about how ye were. Kili was nigh hysterical, sure you’d been eaten up and were no longer with us and he was upsettin’ the rest.” The elderly dwarf all but shoved Lanthiron out of his way and puttered over to Bilbo’s bedside, climbing up onto the chair there with as much dignity as he could muster considering it was much too big for him.

“The rest? So everyone is alright?””

“Oh aye, right as rain other than a few scratches and bites t’ split between the lot of us, but nothing much t’ complain about compared to you. Gave those who saw it a proper scare and Gloin is complaining of having white in his beard now. You’re lucky to be alive, you know.”

The tightness in Bilbo’s chest eased somewhat and he breathed easier. “I’ll have to take your word for that. I’m afraid I don’t remember much of the whole incident, or whatever lead up to it.”

“Don’t remember?” Balin repeated, his eyebrows rising up until they nearly touched his hairline. “I don’t see how one could possibly forget such a – “

“My patient has suffered a minor head wound,” Lanthiron interrupted as he walked by with an armful of clean bandages, looking very sour. “You may recall that the guards were forced to pry him out from under the corpse of a warg, so it is not out of the question that he perhaps made contact with a root or a rock when it landed on him. It’s a miracle he wasn’t smothered.”

Bilbo’s stomach lurched. “I feel so much better now, thank you.”

“If you feel poorly I suggest you simply take your medicine and cease fretting over what has been. Putting your mind towards healing will speed the process.”

Balin didn’t say anything to this, staying silent until Lanthiron had deposited the bandages and retreated back to the door to talk with the elven guard who stood there, keeping a sharp eye on both patient and visitor.

“I hate t’ say it, but he’s right. You aren’t any use to anyone if they’ve got you bundled up here and feelin’ poorly. You should rest.” Balin’s hand was warm and dry on his shoulder.

“I’ll be able to do that properly once I know what happened otherwise I won’t be able to stop thinking about it and I’ll probably give myself a worse headache than I already have.” In fact he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable all over, especially his foot. It was impossible to tell how bad the wound was since Lanthiron would probably restrain him if he tried to take off the bandages, but whatever had happened it was most certainly starting to hurt as the medicine wore off. “So please just get on with it and I’ll be sure to tell you if I’m not feeling up to more.”

“If you’re sure,” Balin said slowly as he reached into his coat as if to pull out his pipe and then stopped, no doubt thinking better of it since he was in an infirmary. “When were you last with us?”

“The whole time I imagine, but the last thing I remember was getting across the river in the boat.”

“Oh now that was quite a bit of excitement. Didn’t have much like it for a while after, so you aren’t missin’ much there. Gathered up our things for the most part – Bombur’s pot got washed downstream when that stag went through, and picked back up the path. Not much else to tell about that part other than it started gettin’ cold at night after a week or so and we used up the last of the pipe weed. I remember you weren’t too pleased about that, but we all had our little troubles by then. Water was nearly gone; food was startin’ to run down as well. Then somebody had the bright idea to send you up a tree to get our bearings.”  

“Oh great,” Bilbo moaned, pillowing his head in his hands. “Did I fall out?”

“Nah,” Balin chuckled, “but it was a close thing. You kept sayin’ how we should have sent Kili up instead since he’s a better climber, but Kili had stepped in a hole just that day and turned his ankle around. You’d have thought we’d chopped off his whole foot by the way he carried on about it until Thorin told him to man up and act like a proper dwarf.”

“That wasn’t very nice of him.”

“None of us were quite ourselves. High tempers made things a bit tight. Anyway, Bofur gave you his hat to keep sticks out of your hair and up you went. Did a good enough job of it too; Dwalin was ready to catch you if you slipped – just in case. You were up there long enough that we thought one of the bats had carried you off and Thorin was about ready to climb up and fetch you when down you came.”

The idea of being carried off by one of the Mirkwood bats had Bilbo grimacing. “No bats got me, I assume?”

“Not a one. Must like the taste of moth more than hobbit,” Balin said with a cheery wink. “Turns out you’d managed to net somethin’ in Bofur’s hat and it had taken a while – showed it off when you got down and were as pleased as a miner who’d come across a mithril vein. T’was a butterfly, as bright blue as any sapphire I’d ever seen. It hung about for a moment and then flew off once you’d opened up the hat, but everyone liked the look of it and it made the spirits lift a bit. Turns out we were in a valley of sorts, so it was hard to tell where the edge was until we got to higher ground. Not quite what anyone wanted to hear, but it was better than nothin’.”

Blue butterflies. He could almost feel them whirling around him like a cobalt tornado. The smell of autumn leaves. It wasn’t a memory though, or not a proper one. He didn’t remember catching any of them so it had to be a flashback to the first time he’d been sent up that wretched tree. “It sounds beautiful,” Bilbo said softly, playing with the bandage where it had fallen down over his eyebrow.

“Mmm, the last bit of hope we had after that. Took us another two days to get out of the valley and then it started to rain buckets. Turned everything to mud and little rivers, but we were able to refill our water skins.” Balin’s eyes fell to his hands and Bilbo suddenly felt nervous.

“What then?” The hobbit prompted, somehow knowing that he wouldn’t like the answer.

“That,” Balin sighed, “was when Azog came. He and more than a dozen warg riders came up the path behind us, scattered us. Some of us climbed up into one of the trees while the others were chased into the brush, off the path. As I recall it was you, me, Bifur, Gloin, and Kili up in that old oak with Azog and five orcs under us. They had bows but the rain threw off their aim. We thought we were safe for the moment but we didn’t count on what else was in the tree with us.”

“Spiders,” Bilbo whispered.

“The owners of those webs we’d been seein’ since we first entered the forest. As big as ponies they were and they’d heard us climb up you see, and come down to investigate. We fought them off for as long as we could but one stung Bifur and he went limp and we were forced lower to keep out of their grasp. Low enough for that beast of Azog’s to rear up and grab you by your coat bottom.” Balin swallowed hard, his hand clenching and loosening in his lap. “Dragged you right out before anyone could do a thing.”

“It’s not your fault. If there were spiders too you couldn’t have done anything.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Balin snapped sharply, making the healer look up and take a step towards the bed, looking irritated.

“It’s fine! I’m fine.” Bilbo waved Lanthiron away. “I’ll take the medicine in just a minute, I promise.” That didn’t seem to placate the elf very much, but at least he didn’t try to send Balin away. Gingerly Bilbo reached out and patted Balin’s wrist. “Really, I don’t blame anyone for anything. I don’t even remember it, so it’s hard to be cross at anyone except Azog.”

“You weren’t the one who had to watch when that beast grabbed your foot and shook you like a child’s rag doll. We all thought you were dead, lad. You just stopped screamin’ after a bit and all we could do was try and keep the spiders off us and not get caught ourselves. Luckily I think the noise lead the others back and Thorin lead the charge, but we all knew it was hopeless. Against just the orcs we might have fared well enough, but with their mounts too it was just a matter of time. Nearly scared my beard right off when you got up again and got loose. I don’t know what happened, but somehow you managed to get one of those stickers Nori gave you right up through the roof of the warg’s mouth. Must have hit its brain because it went down like a cave in right on top of you.”

“That was when the Royal Hunt arrived,” Lanthiron said from behind Balin, his arms folded in front of him and looking like he wanted to stab the old dwarf with a needle the size of his arm. “They chased the orcs off and slew several before graciously escorting you all here rather than leaving you to rot in the forest.”

“And Azog?” Bilbo pressed, trying very hard not to imagine getting shaken around by his poor foot.

“Escaped,” Balin said morbidly. “Thorin did not take it well, nor being ‘escorted’ by Thranduil. He nearly stabbed the elf king when they wouldn’t tell us whether you lived or not. The elves have put us in cells until Thranduil decides what to do with us.”  

“You should be grateful that he spared you at all,” Lanthiron snapped, picking back up the spoon and medicine bottle. “You and your company have already broken three noses and more fingers than I can count of the guards who were sent to give you food and water. I think it’s time for you to return to your cell, dwarf. You are upsetting my patient.”

“He _isn’t_ upsetting – ulp!” Bilbo gagged as Lanthiron shoved the spoon into his mouth and swallowed reflexively. The medicine was vaguely sweet and tasted of crush mint and grassy things and the moment it hit his stomach it spread out a cool feeling that instantly settled his insides and began to work away at the numerous aches that had blossomed while Balin spoke. “You tricked me,” he accused the elf thickly.

“My people have no quarrel with halflings, and thus I will treat you to the full extent of my ability. Even if you don’t want me to. Your leg needs time and extensive work; otherwise I can’t be sure that you will ever walk again. You’ve already lost one of your toes and I need to examine the rest. Now please rest and let the medicine run its course.”

“Balin?” Bilbo asked softly, unnatural fatigue already taking root and making him slur his words. “Tell them I’m alright? I’ll make it better. I will…”

“I’ll tell them, laddie. Be at ease.”

The last thing Bilbo saw before his eyes slid shut was Lanthiron ushering Balin and his guard out the door and shutting it behind him. 


	39. Locked Up Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Depression, Emotional Pain

“Are ye sure you’re a’right?”

“Fine. I already said so, didn’t I?”

“Aye, but tha’ doesn’t make it true.”

Bilbo sighed and looked down at his hands where they were covered by Bofur’s mitten-clad one. They had grown thin and pale, more than he could ever remember seeing them before. There was no sunlight to be found in the infirmary and Bilbo felt sure that before long he wouldn’t need to put on the Ring to turn invisible. He’d simply be so pale that he would fade into the background and disappear.

The infirmary was kept purposefully dim so as not to be hard on the eyes of those therein, but it also made it hard to tell the passage of time. Much of the Woodland Realm lay beneath the surface of the forest, built along the massive roots from the trees above. The formed intricate living bridges and arbors from which hung fey lanterns and luminescent moss which seemed to grow there naturally. In a very few places the sun broke through the trees and the earth and cast singular beams of golden autumn light. Of course, Bilbo saw none of this because he remained effectively trapped by his foot and the ever-watchful eye of Lanthiron in the cool, shadowy infirmary which was lit only by lanterns. The hobbit had learned to judge time by how often he was given tea to deaden his pain and by when his foot was cleaned and bandaged.

Once a day (as far as Bilbo could figure) Lanthiron and one of his aids would appear and declare that it was time for Bilbo’s bandages to be changed and then dose him with something that made his head swim and his muscles all turn to jelly. The elves would quickly unwrap his foot, rub some sort of lotion that felt as good as cool water on a sunburn all over it, and then rewrap the whole thing in clean linens before declaring him ‘much improved’. Bilbo might have felt spoiled if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of his mangled limb once before they had begun their work. It was covered in thick, ropey scars that twined from the tips of his toes all the way up to his kneecap where he’d been laid open by the warg’s teeth. Lanthiron told him it was a blessing that those teeth hadn’t managed to sever one of the big arteries in his leg since he would have surely bled to death before help arrived, but that didn’t stop Bilbo from gaping in horror at his poor, shaved foot and the bare spot where his pinkie toe had once been. After that he made sure to avert his eyes whenever it came time for his treatment – once was more than enough. He may not remember being caught and tortured by Azog and his orcs but that didn’t mean that he needed a constant reminder of the incident every time he looked down.

“War wounds, laddie,” Balin told him the second time he was allowed in. “We all have a few, even those who haven’t seen real war or battle.”

“Or haven’t seen it _yet_.” Bilbo had replied dourly and then couldn’t be roused from his bleak mood for the rest of the dwarf’s visit.  

After that he struck a deal with Lanthiron that he wouldn’t cause trouble or refuse when the elf wanted to pour more of his herbal concoctions down his throat if he was allowed to have more company.

“Hobbbits are social creatures!” He’d claimed when Lanthiron had given him a suspicious look. “If we’re left on our own with no good companionship we’ll wither away and then I won’t get better at all.”

The elf had taken mild offense to being labeled ‘poor company’ (not that he’d said so, but Bilbo had learned how to interpret the healer’s moods based on how high or low his eyebrows were), but he had relented and the next time the door had opened it revealed Bofur and the same prison guard who had escorted Balin.

“S’okay if you don’t feel good, nobody thinks ill of ye for not bein’ stuck down in a cell with the rest of us. Better here than down there and gettin’ th’ rot or somethin’ similar.” Bofur’s brown eyes were soft and concerned and it felt like a balm on Bilbo’s raw edges.

“I’m just worried,” he confessed, taking his hand back and using it to push his hair out of his eyes. If Bofur noticed the dark purple bruises underneath them he was tactful enough not to comment for once. “I know that Thorin and Thranduil don’t exactly get on well – “

“Ta put it mildly.” Bofur’s smile was small and held no real mirth.

“Exactly. I just know that now that he has us all locked up and under guard he won’t be eager to let us go without a fight. I just need to figure out what to do about it.”

“It’s not your trouble, Bilbo. Ye see that they aren’t bothered by ye since there isn’t even a watch at th’ door. I hate t’ say it, but ye may be the only one getting’ outta here unless some magic brings th’ wizard back again t’ plead our cause. But it’s not so bad,” the dwarf added. “Three meals and they’re even cooked well enough, and the cells have cots which is better than what we’ve been sleepin’ on. Sort’a a little vacation if ye ask me.”

Bilbo nodded and fretted with the corner of the bed sheet. Elrond had given him a letter to give to Thranduil if they encountered any problem with the king of the Woodland Realm, but it had been long lost somewhere between Beorn’s house and where Azog had caught up to them in Mirkwood. According to Balin, many of their packs had been savaged by the orcs and wargs and several items had either been damaged or lost completely – Elrond’s letter included. It had merely been a letter of council, but it would have been useful to have the elf king on their side in the end. Now all Bilbo had to rely on were his wits and charm, neither of which he could use to great effect with his foot held up in a sling. Kings didn’t visit lowly hobbits in the infirmary after all.  

“But everyone is still alright?”

“As far as I can tell. They drag us out once in a while down to th’ throne room so the king his’self can ask us what we’re doin’ and where we’re goin’, but so far we’ve kept mum. Haven’t seen much of Thorin ‘cept when they march him by once a day since they’ve got him in a deeper cell than th’ rest of us. Seems fine though. Like I said, don’t worry ‘bout us. We’ll find some way t’ get out and then we’ll be on our way again afore ye know it.”

That was when Lanthiron decided to come back and deemed that Bilbo had had enough company for one day and Bofur was taken away by the guard who had been standing just outside the door.

Left to his own devices Bilbo had little to do but worry and try to plan ahead even though he knew nothing was certain. The healer had returned his tattered coat to him and Bilbo was relieved to find that both rings were still in his pocket. The ring of power went into the pocket of the robe he’d been given and the Consort’s ring hung loose on his thumb, where he would turn it in circles to watch the lantern light reflect off of the emerald. The days dripped out from under him like molasses, blending together until he nearly forgot how long he had been trapped. Deeper and deeper his spirits sank, left with no sunshine and only a single visitor a day. The dwarves tried to cheer him up as best they could, but none of them had a workable plan for convincing Thranduil to release them or for escaping from their cells and the lack of news was even more disheartening.

“It is common for victims of an attack to have low spirits,” Lanthiron told him one evening as he helped Bilbo sit up and carefully fed him a spoonful of medicine. Bilbo didn’t have the strength or heart to reply and simply sagged back against his pillow and sank back into his thoughts, missing the worried look the healer gave him.

“It’s like winter,” he whispered to Dori, who was knitting in the chair next to his bed a few days later. They were the first words he’d spoken since the eldest Ri had been allowed in – a depression had sunk into his very bones and left him listless and uninterested in anything that went on around him. Even thoughts of escape and reunion with the company had taken a backseat to the weight that had settled over him. At night he would awaken in a cold sweat with his heart racing only to have the magnitude of what had happened and what might still happen come crashing down on him again and leave him sleepless. Was it really so hopeless?

“Winter?” The dwarf prompted, his wooden needles still, and Bilbo realized that his attention had wandered again.

“When I was twenty one there was a terrible winter. It lasted for months and months and we nearly starved because the snow had ruined the fall harvest and lasted so long that nothing could be planted. Wolves came out of the forest and killed all of the game and we couldn’t stir out of doors for fear of being eaten ourselves. I remember three of them took up station right on our porch, as if they knew that my parents and I were inside…” Bilbo swallowed hard, trying hard not to think about the howls that had sounded through the Shire every night until the May thaw. “But everything was always cold and dark and I began to think that I would never see another cheerful thing as long as I lived. It was very hard not to simply lie down and sleep forever just to end the terrible waiting.”

“We won’t be here forever,” Dori tried to soothe him, but they both knew that nothing he said could change a thing. “Just be well again and then we’ll decide on what happens next. They’re doing their best to convince us that we’re going to rot here but I think that you’re the one who believes it the most. You listen to me, Mister Baggins. You’ve gotten us out of a scrape or two before, so this time just let us figure out what happens and we’ll have you back on your feet proper before you know it.”  

Always they spoke of escaping and Bilbo was the only one who knew for sure how hopeless that dream was. The locks on the prison cells could not be picked and the guard patrols were far too regular to sneak out even if he managed to steal the key again. He’d been lucky last time. This time they knew who he was and had him under close watch and the chances that he’d be able to pull off a similar escape as last time were next to nothing. Dori left soon after, the green scarf he’d been knitting trailing sadly behind him as his guard tried not to step on it. This wasn’t a sickness that could be cured with tea or herbs; it went far too deep for those to touch.

“I’m just a hobbit,” he said to himself, squeezing his eyes shut tightly when there was no one to see, the Consort’s ring cutting into his palm. “What if it’s too much? What if I can’t? _Why did it have to be me?!”_ Bilbo shouted at the ceiling and that was enough to have Lanthiron hastening back into the sick room to sedate him.

It must have been hours later when he finally opened his eyes again, though for all Bilbo knew it could have been days. He had lost so much time that he didn’t know if Durin’s Day had already passed him by while he slept, lost in memories and dreams of fire and teeth.

Watery brown eyes gazed back at him when he carefully turned his head on the pillow and there was a sniffle. Bilbo blinked a couple of times to clear the haze that had settled over his eyes and squinted so he could make out who was leaning on the side of his bed.

“Kili?” 

“The elf said he had to give you something,” the prince said thickly. “He said you’re sick and that he doesn’t know if you’re going to get better.” Kili’s hair was bedraggled, hanging in his face and full of knots as if he’d been sleeping on it and then not bothering to finger-comb it when he woke. It made him look very young and nothing like the grown, confident dwarf that he usually tried to portray.

“I wouldn’t exactly say sick- “ Bilbo started but Kili glared at him so fiercely that he fell silent. Clearly the prince had inherited more from his uncle than just his hair color.

“You look like you just got dragged out of your own tomb,” the dwarf said bluntly, his words thick as if he was trying not to let his voice crack. “Everyone is worried sick about you and we can’t do anything. They took Dwalin away and he hasn’t come back and I don’t know where Thorin is and they’ve got Fili all the way down the hall and then that elf comes down and says you’ve had a fit or something and he wanted Oin to come up, but I - I lied and said that I could fix you but – but – but I can’t!” With a wail Kili let his head fall forward onto his folded arms. “They said to be nice because you’re fragile and now I’ve messed that up too…Dori is going to smash my head against the bars again, I just know it.”

“Dori did what?” Bilbo pushed himself up a bit straighter. His head was still cloudy from whatever Lanthiron had forced on him and everything had a very strange purple tint to it, but it only took him two tries to be able to reach over and lift up part of Kili’s bangs to see if Dori had managed to crack the prince’s skull. There was only a faint bruise, a love tap considering that Dori probably could have squashed Kili’s head like a watermelon if he wanted to. “Why would he do that?”

“He said that I was caterwauling too much and needed to let everybody sleep,” Kili mumbled, not looking up from the cradle of his arms.  

“In that case he was probably right. You’re lucky he didn’t flick you between the eyes – I saw him do that to one of the goblins in the mountain and it dropped like a rock. The bars were more forgiving.” Bilbo carefully patted Kili’s head where it wasn’t bruised. “Was it okay after that?”

“That was a week ago! We’ve been stuck in this horrible place for almost three weeks and nobody has any – “ Kili hiccuped and looked up, “ – any idea about what to do without Thorin. Bofur said you might run away and leave us here since you were the only one who could, but then you got sick and now you’re going to die!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’m not going to – “

“I tried to shoot it.” Kili’s voice was quiet, deathly so. “That warg, when it got you. I didn’t even care about Azog, I just wanted it to let go of you. But there was a _spider_ and it was as big as I was and it bit my string in half and Bifur wouldn’t let me climb down!” The dwarf reached up and grabbed Bilbo’s hand where it rested on his head, squeezing it hard enough that Bilbo winced. “I tried and I thought you were _dead._ You can’t die, not when you were supposed to be getting better. We won’t go without you.”

“Kili! For the last time, I’m not going to die. I’m not sick, truly.” Or at least not bodily ill. But seeing Kili’s anguish and tear-filled eyes made something inside him harder and Bilbo used it like a lid to push down the self-pity and depression that had been dragging at him. Somebody needed him and he couldn’t fall to pieces while there was still so much at stake. At least not yet.

“But Dori and Bofur said – “

“Well they said wrong. My foot just needed some extra time to get better. Look! Perfectly fine now.” As quickly as he could so that he wouldn’t have too much time to fret about it, Bilbo yanked his foot out of the sling it had been resting in every day and gave his ankle a tentative turn. “I can even stand and walk now,” he fibbed.

Kili gave him a flat look, completely unconvinced. “You’re lying to make me feel better, I know you are.”

“I am not! Look, give me a hand up and I’ll prove it.” His bluff had been called and now he had to live it down. Was the scarring too extensive for him to walk? What if something had been cut and he couldn’t put any weight on it? A burglar with only one working leg wasn’t a very effective one and he knew that if he couldn’t keep up, then he would probably be either left behind here or in Lake Town if they even made it that far. It was now or never and Bilbo didn’t relish the idea of spending another month trapped in bed with only his dark mood to keep him company.  

Kili finally sat back and climbed off of his chair, reaching up so that Bilbo could grab his hands and lower himself down. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Hush, you wouldn’t know a good idea if it crawled into bed with you and asked for breakfast the next morning.” The sheets went slithering to the floor as Bilbo let himself fall out of bed with them, putting all of his weight on his left foot and only barely brushing the floor with the wrapped toes of his right. “Just give me your shoulder.”

All of the blood had rushed down to his feet and legs and both suddenly felt very weak and full of pins and needles, but by clinging to Kili’s shoulder like a lifeline Bilbo was able to put his other foot down and balance there, waiting to see if either gave out and sent him tumbling to the wooden floor.

Neither did.  

Ever so slowly Bilbo let his legs take more of his weight until he was standing freely without hanging off of the prince. Kili practically vibrated in place, no doubt ready to reach out and catch him if something went wrong. The concern written on his face gave Bilbo the confidence to lean forward and take a step. It was short and sent a throb of pain through his ankle, but no more than it would have had he simply twisted the thing rather than had it gnawed on. That first hesitant step was followed by another and then another, until Bilbo had limped around the chair and stopped with his hand resting on its arm. His legs were shaking and he felt much more winded than he should have from such a short excursion, but that he was still upright and more or less mobile felt like a Smaug-sized victory.

“See? I told you I was fine.”

“Mister Baggins!” The door was flung open and Lanthiron came rushing in, moving faster than Bilbo had ever seen him go. “What are you doing? You could damage your foot and undo all of the work we’ve put into it!”

Kili went as white as a sheet and did his best to make himself look small behind Bilbo, backing down before the wrath of the healer. It shot a bolt of steel straight into Bilbo’s spine.

“I thank you for your concern, but as you can see I am perfectly capable of looking after myself now. Your assistance has been greatly appreciated, but now the only thing I want is a stick to lean on and an audience with King Thranduil. If you could do that for me I’d be much obliged.”

It was time to move on, whether he was ready or not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be including this part in the story since there isn't really a good place for it, but Kili told a bit of a white lie. The whole company knows that Bilbo is a pushover for the princes, so they actually sent Kili instead of Oin on purpose to see if Kili could talk him out of his funk. Clearly it worked and Bilbo will never know that he was played for a sucker. The tears weren't completely crocodile ones though, so don't think the sentiment was fake. 
> 
> Now let's go see what our favorite pointy-eared King is up to, shall we? In the next chapter Bilbo gets found out by one of the company members. Who do you think it's going to be?


	40. The Secrets We Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

_‘No more being a fainting flower, you’ve had quite enough time for that. Now there’s work to be done.’_

Bilbo’s hand tightened on the rough end of the walking stick he’d been given to help him hobble along. It was a pretty enough thing except for the part where he was fairly certain it had been hurriedly cut in half to accommodate someone of his size rather than the willowy elves. It worked well enough as a cane though, and he leaned on it heavily as his foot began to throb in protest of the sudden addition of weight and use.

It hadn’t been long after he’d made his demand to Lanthiron that an escort of three elven guards had come to collect him from the infirmary. Kili had been whisked off, no doubt back to his cell, and Bilbo had found himself hobbling along with an elf on either side of him and one at the front to lead the way. It was a small mercy that they kept their steps short and slow so that he wouldn’t have to hurry too much and he suspected that the healer had had a few words with them not to overexert his patient before Bilbo had been taken away to stand before Thranduil.

There was sunlight in the throne room, and Bilbo made sure to situate himself in one of them when his escort finally stopped, soaking it up like a fish who had too long been denied a sip of water. So blissful was it just to feel the feeble, golden rays upon his face that it took a long time for him to notice that he had the eyes of the entire chamber upon him, including those of the Elvenking.

Autumn had come to Mirkwood and the crown of the king had grown to match, with blood-red berries and crimson leaves to decorate its branches. Sadly for all of the warm colors that adorned the king none of them could reach the ice that had grown behind his blue eyes. Though the way that he leaned upon his throne of wood and antlers was casual and controlled and his hands were loose around his carven staff, Bilbo knew that he would have to tread very carefully or he too would find himself thrown into a cell in the deepest parts of the forest kingdom.

“At long last I see the Halfling who has been keeping my healer in such a state. You have caused quite a stir in my kingdom, both with the manner of your arrival and the company you kept with you. Tell me, what is your name and what brings you to the Woodland Realm?” Thranduil sounded uninterested but because of the quiet whispers that filled the room around him after he had spoken Bilbo knew that more hung on his answer than just the usual ‘hello, how are you, what brings you over for tea’.

“Hail Thranduil, son of Oropher, Elvenking of the Woodland Realm. May your reign last as long as the trees.” Bilbo bowed as low as he could over the top of his cane, knowing that his formal greeting would be a ruined if he wobbled and fell over. 

"Rise, Halfling. If I had realized I had a poet in my infirmary I may have summoned you myself." The icy gaze never left the hobbit as his attention was focused. The rest of the room and its occupants were only shadows to the king.  “Now continue, for I still desire your name and your business and am unused to being kept waiting."

“My name is Bilbo Baggins and my business is a grave one.” Like Elrond before him, Thranduil had to know some of the details. That didn’t mean Bilbo was going to let loose his tongue and spill all to the Elvenking, but it may ease his way a bit if Thranduil knew not to deny fate by detaining him or the rest of the company. “I have traveled from the Shire through Rivendell and spoken with Lord Elrond, from whom I once bore a message that was to be delivered to you.”

He hadn’t spoken this formally since he was a lad and had gotten his hands on a book of poetry. Belladonna had laughed at him for a solid month until he’d gone back to his usual way of talking.

A fine platinum brow was raised. If there had been a message from Lord Elrond someone would have found it on Bilbo when he'd been brought in. "Yet you no longer carry this message. I think this sounds very convenient on your part."

“Not at all, sir. Your majesty. The contents concerned me and my company, so if it was eaten by the same warg that got its teeth into me I would call that more inconvenient than anything else.” His foot, while still bandaged to the knee, had been covered by a very high-topped black boot that neatly covered most of the wrappings. Lanthiron had insisted on these and then looked mildly insulted when Bilbo tried to insist that he didn’t wear shoes. Apparently the healer had requested them specifically made to fit Bilbo so that there was less of a chance of him picking up a rock or something unhealthy in his wounds. Since he would have looked like a clot head walking around with one foot shod and the other bare Bilbo had been forced to put on both of the shoes and now wiggled his toes uncomfortably in them. Lanthiron may have been right about wearing them for safety, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Besides, the tall black boots looked utterly ridiculous underneath his trousers (which had been returned to him along with the rest of his clothes, freshly mended and laundered, before he had been taken to see Thranduil. Clearly kings were not likely to be impressed by bare bandages and white night robes).

"Your business, Mister Baggins. As you are the one who requested this sudden audience you would be wise not to waste this generously given time." Thranduil crossed one booted foot over his knee and had the audacity to look bored.

A bit put off by Thranduil’s indifference, Bilbo had to fight to find his words again. He hadn’t spoken with the Elvenking in his own kingdom – most of his time before had been spent hiding in dark corners and stealing little bits of food when he could. It most certainly had not been spent standing in court for all and sundry to look at.

“I, well, that’s a bit complicated.”

"Then you will want to start explaining immediately."

So much for elves being the patient sort. Although, Bilbo reminded himself, if he’d had a dungeon full of dwarves who had been trespassing around and didn’t know why, he might be a bit snappish too.

Had it been anyone else Bilbo might have gotten cross and asked if he should wait for a better time. After all, he was the one who was hurting, sore, and unhappy while he doubted Thranduil had anything more pressing to do than plan some elaborate party. Sadly the King was also the one who held the majority of the cards in this courtly game so the most Bilbo could do was swallow his irritation and put on the face that he usually reserved for when he was trying to be polite to Lobelia.

“The whole story, or at least the important part as far as I’m concerned, start about eighty years in the future. As I lay dying I was spoken to by someone, though I couldn’t tell you who they were or what their purpose was in approaching someone like me. I was asked if I could change history, would I.”

Thranduil remained unmoved, slowly spinning his staff between his long, spider-like fingers. “That is a mighty claim.”

“Especially for someone like me, I know. I’m not a king or a hero or particularly important when it all comes down to it. I had a hard time believing it myself until I woke up on my front bench and was fifty again.”

Titters and whispers erupted around the room and Bilbo felt the back of his neck grow hot. He was used to be looked down on when he was outside the Shire, but that didn’t chase away the feeling of embarrassment and shame.

“Yes, I’m not five thousand and twelve like the rest of you and any great deeds I might have done haven’t happened yet, but at least I’m polite enough not to laugh about it!”

That quieted them somewhat. Even Thranduil’s eyebrows rose and with a wave of his hand the last of the whispers died away.  “If what you say is true then you should have no issue with telling me why you were returned to this state and what it has to do with why you were found trespassing in my lands with known enemies of my kingdom.”

“And why we should believe him at all,” added another voice, which came from a pale red-haired lady elf who stood near the throne next to an elf that looked like a slightly younger version of Thranduil _. The king’s son,_ Bilbo realized. This must be the elf that Frodo would travel with one day.

“You make a valid point, Captain. How are we to be sure that this isn’t all an elaborate story that was concocted while our guest languished in his sick bed? Indeed, the message you claim to have carried is gone and can provide nothing to support you. So, Halfling, what is to prevent me from simply commanding Tauriel to add you to my dungeon with the rest of my miniscule captives?”

The captain laid a delicate hand on the hilt of the long sword that hung from her belt and the prince looked a little bit alarmed.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Bilbo said quietly, his hands tightening on his stick as he faked a confidence he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “I have met you before, Elvenking, and I saw your wisdom and dignity. That king listened to reason when it was offered and I offer it again here - I know that you are no one’s fool so I beg you to hear me out before condemning me for trying to save you from your own prejudices.”

“If you insult my liege there will not be enough of you left to put in the dungeon for the rats to gnaw upon.”

“Tauriel,” Thranduil chastised.

Legolas stared at his companion. “There are _rats_ in the dungeon?”

“Legolas!” The prince was shushed by both his father and the captain, who looked as irritated as Bilbo had ever seen an elf manage to look (and he’d been witness to the time Elrond had nearly been tipped over a balcony in Rivendell by a group of human travelers and their oversized packs. He’d been sure the lord was about to burst a vein in his forehead).

“I know I don’t have any proof but my word,” Bilbo interrupted, taking a hesitant step forward. “And that’s not much to go on. You don’t know me, after all. For all any of you know I could be a thief and a liar and you should put me in your dungeon until I turn to dust. But I _know_ what’s going to happen and I also know that if I don’t succeed in my quest that lives that are precious to me will be lost. I beseech you for your aid, Elvenking. Last time I was a guest in your kingdom I traveled only in the darkest places and thought you to be a tyrant when you imprisoned my friends, but with older, wiser eyes I see more clearly – you fear for the safety of your lands and your people.”

It might have been a trick of the dusky light but Bilbo thought he saw Thranduil’s eyes dart to his son for a moment before they returned to their indifferent perusal of his guest and court.

“Do not think that you know what my fears are, Halfling. You tread a fine line between holding my interest and rousing my temper.”

“I know that you think the dwarves in your dungeon are traveling to Erebor and that they’ll wake the dragon who might still sleep beneath the mountain. And you’d be right. Thorin Oakenshield, who I’m sure you’ve locked in the deepest, darkest cell in this whole place, intends to reclaim his birthright – from the claws of Smaug himself if he has to.”

The room erupted.

‘ _Well that certainly got their attention,_ ’ Bilbo thought, a touch sarcastically. If there was one way to stir up a room full of elves, it was to mention a dragon. Especially when that dragon was currently occupying a mountain no more than a day or two away as the raven flew. As whispers and curses and shouts for order flew over his head, Bilbo shifted in his new shoes to try to ease some of the discomfort that was creeping through his wounded foot. It gave a particularly nasty throb and he left off, trying to fight down the bile that rose in his throat. An adventurer and burglar he might be, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t avoid pain when he could help it. After all, he was a hobbit when it came right down to it, and hobbits were quite fond of being comfortable. The raw scar tissue and missing toe weren’t comfortable at all, especially when he’d already been standing on them for the better part of two hours. Too bad it didn’t look as though anyone who be bringing him a stool to perch on.

“They’re more like children than half of the hobbit kits I’ve bounced on my knee…” He murmured to himself.

Not more than a heartbeat later Thranduil finally lost his veil of calm and shot to his feet with a hissed “Enough!” that sent his couriers hurrying back to the walls, their luminous eyes gleaming as the light began to fade from the throne room. Night was coming and the Elvenking stood resplendent on his throne of wood and bone, his face made of hard angles and shadow as he glared down at the wretched hobbit that had the misfortune to be standing in the middle of his throne room, leaning on a little wooden stick. Like silver wings his robes flared around him as he strode down the steps of his dais until he loomed over Bilbo and the hobbit took an instinctive step backwards that nonetheless left him craning his neck to look up at the king, sweat beading on his forehead and dampening the palms of his hands. “You have brought chaos and disorder to my court and I will not stand for it. Tell me what you know of Smaug and then I will decide whether or not to believe your words at all.”

_Courage, think of your friends in the dungeon. He isn’t as bad as Smaug by any stretch of the imagination._

“I’m afraid I can’t, sorry.”

“You can’t?” Thranduil repeated.

“No. You can bully and sneer at me all you like, but on this I’m firm. I won’t tell you single thing until you agree to let the dwarves and me continue on our way. I don’t think they’re enjoying your accommodations, quite frankly. “

“You seek to _bargain_ with me when what you know could affect thousands?” Thranduil snarled. “My people have lived in the shadow of that cursed mountain and the name Smaug for sixty years and you want me to release the very dwarves who wish to go and stir it awake again!”

“I never said they would wake Smaug, or whether he was still even alive,” Bilbo said coolly, refusing to show more weakness than he already had. He was too old and had done too much to be antagonized by Thranduil. Already he had stood before the king’s cold indifference – his wrath would be no different. “Nor will I. Trolls and orcs and goblins have already tried to stop us and you won’t be the one who succeeds. Now I say that I’m from the future and I’ll stand by it. You can either bargain with me and maybe learn something that might help save the lives of your people, or you can continue to be stubborn and not get another word out of me.”

Thranduil looked like he wanted to throttle him where he stood and Bilbo raised his head belligerently, teeth clenched, refusing to be cowed.

“Father, you know that he speaks truthfully,” Legolas called from his place at Tauriel’s side. “Do not torment the Halfling further – he simply confirms what the messengers from Lórien have already told us – ouch! Tauriel…” The captain had driven her elbow into the prince’s ribs rather violently.

There was movement from the right side of the room and three elves stepped forward. All three had long, white-blond hair and hawkish noses and had slightly rounder faces than the Sindarin elves. All three bowed sharply to Thranduil, their war helmets tucked underneath their arms and bows strapped across their backs. Either they had been about to leave or had recently arrived.

“Forgive me your majesty, but I too must interject. My brothers and I have come carrying the word of my lady Galadriel concerning this very matter.”

“Haldir,” Thranduil said with irritation. “Rumil, Orophin, marchwardens of Lórien. I have heard your words already and do not need them repeated a second time so that my court may have further fuel for their gossip.” 

“It may be too bold of me, sire, but when we arrived yestereve my brothers and I were most surprised to find that you had imprisoned Thorin Oakenshield and his company on charges of trespassing, when until this point most travelers had gone along the path unhindered.”

“Those travelers were not dwarves.”

Bilbo let out a quiet, relieved sigh as Thranduil swept about and returned to his throne. Legolas gave the hobbit a pitying look before following.

“Perhaps not, but these dwarves traveled with a Twice Born who is of great interest to our lady. She has learned of his revival from Gandalf the Grey and Lord Elrond and wanted it made known to you that his quest is supported by those west of the Misty Mountains.”

“I know this and yet it is _my_ kingdom they traveled through and _mine_ which will be the first to burn should Smaug take offense to being trod upon by their inelegant boots! If this Halfling knows what the future holds then he should tell me here and now so that I may work to circumvent this!”

Desperately Bilbo wanted to blurt out that Mirkwood would not be destroyed by Smaug. Even if there was nothing he could change about how the dragon awoke and burned Laketown, eventually Bard would be the one to destroy him before he caused the elves even a drop of trouble. But he couldn’t. If Thranduil knew that there was even the smallest chance that Smaug could awaken and turn against his people there would be no force in the world that would convince him to allow the company to move forward. The king was too wary of the dragon, and with good reason since Smaug’s wrath could be devastating.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I really can’t say anything more until you can give me a show of good faith to build on. If you keep us locked up then you’ll never know whether Smaug is still alive in Erebor or if he will awaken and burn everything from here to the Great Sea to ash.”

The gasps of horror from around the room were enough to tell Bilbo that his bluff had been effective. The crimson leaves on Thranduil’s crown seemed to drain of color even as the Elvenking went rigid on his throne, clearly imagining the destruction Smaug could wreak if left unchecked.

“If this could truly come to pass…no doubt it would be because of the foolishness of the dwarves who want to reclaim their mountain. Tell me this, Halfling. Is Smaug awoken because of Thorin Oakenshield?”

“No, Elvenking. He is not.” _Because I’m the one who wakes up Smaug._ “And that’s all I’ll say about it. The next move is yours and for all of our sakes I hope it is a wise one.”

Silence fell.

Every elf in the throne room seemed to be holding their breath. No one twitched. No whispers were passed. Every eye in the room was fixed on Thranduil, waiting. Watching. Ready to see whether their king’s next words would doom them all.

“The dwarves will be moved to guest quarters,” Thranduil said, though the words seemed to have been dragged up out of somewhere unpleasant. “And kept under constant guard. But not – “ he added quickly, “Thorin Oakenshield. I do not trust him around my people as he has proved that he will not lay aside his grudge and will no doubt seek to do them harm. This is all I will agree to at this time.” Thranduil’s carven staff was leveled at where Bilbo stood. “But this is not over. We will speak again on this dire matter, Halfling. Soon.”

Though his mouth seemed as dry as the southern deserts, Bilbo’s voice was steady. “I look forward to it.”

“Tauriel. Escort our guest and his companion to their new quarters. I expect you personally to keep an eye on our Twice Born since it would make me deeply unhappy to have him come to any harm…”

“Yes, my liege.”

“Companion?” Bilbo asked as the captain came over to stand next to him, settling one surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder to steer him. It wasn’t until he had wobbled his way around did he see who Thranduil had been referencing. Ori stood to the side of the door, in the shadow of one of the court guards. His mitten-clad hands were balled in the fabric of his cardigan and he was staring at Bilbo as if the hobbit had suddenly sprouted wings and begun to breathe fire and speak in tongues. Bilbo’s blood instantly went cold.

“Oh dear…”

__________________________________

The walk to their new quarters was a tense and quiet one. Tauriel marched behind them while two other guards went ahead, leading the way past lanterns that brightened even as the sunlight from outside faded away to nothing. Ori didn’t try to speak and with every step Bilbo felt his spirits sink lower. If there was anyone he had wanted to alienate the least, it would have been Ori. The scribe’s sweet temperament mad him a comfort to talk to and often during the journey they had sat together in the evenings and compared notes and sketches and ideas for things they wanted to write one day (or in Bilbo’s case re-write).

Now he walked two steps behind Bilbo and refused to look up at him. How much had he heard? Clearly enough if his behavior was any indicator. Not wanting to alarm him further, Bilbo didn’t attempted to make any sort of conversation and simply tucked his hand into the pockets of his vest, playing with the Consort’s Ring as he attempted not to trip over his shoes. The last thing he needed right now was a broken nose to add to his misery. It was difficult for Bilbo to even enjoy his surroundings, so worried was he. The twisting bridges made of living trees and the ceilings that practically disappeared up into the rich darkness of the Mirkwood underground were lost on him, though the earthy smell of the place did help to put him in a slightly better frame of mind. At least they weren’t being chased by orcs or spiders here and it smelled like growing things. There were certainly worse places to be captured.

A while later, after they had passed by the infirmary and a long feast hall where Thranduil’s subjects were busy carousing to the tune of several barrels of wine, they reached a long hallways of wooden doors.

“Here are the guest quarters,” Tauriel said with no inflection in her voice. The elf didn’t appear to be impressed by her demotion to guard duty. “You are to remain in your rooms unless summoned by my liege. Should you think to disobey either myself or my men will return you to them by force if necessary. Are we clear?”

“Yes yes, be good or we’ll be spanked for it. Now will you please show me to my room so that I can sit down before I fall down?”

The elf’s sharp green eyes narrowed, but she didn’t rebuke Bilbo for his rudeness. He knew what they needed to know and to treat him like a common prisoner was the fastest way to seal his lips permanently. “This one, Master Halfling. I trust you’ll find the accommodations pleasant.” The door on the left swung open when she pressed her hand to the wood, revealing a spacious room lit by fey lanterns with a single bed and a chair and a small open space to the outside that let in fresh air. It was sparse, but it wasn’t full of bugs and the bed seemed to be whispering Bilbo’s name even as he stood in the door. He nearly whimpered.

“It’s fine, thank you,” he managed. “And if you don’t mind, would it be alright if Ori stayed with me for a little while? I need someone to help me take off these dreadful shoes.”   

Tauriel looked as though she wanted to refuse, but there was no way that she could and still maintain the illusion of hospitality. “For a short time. I will return and collect him once the other dwarves have been transferred to their new rooms. We wouldn’t want you to push yourself too much, Master Halfling. After all, you are only recently recovered enough to be up after a terrible attack.”

“You don’t need to remind me, thanks. I was there.” It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember the whole thing – that was something he was quite glad of to be honest. People didn’t need to be telling him about it every time he turned around and potentially unburying those memories. Rather than wait around for an apology he was pretty sure wasn’t going to come, Bilbo hobbled into his room and promptly sank into the elf-sized armchair, his walking stick clattering to the floor beside him. Like an apple that had been left on the sill for too long Bilbo felt himself slowly deflating until even his ears were drooping and he felt as though every bone in his body had been removed while he wasn’t paying attention.

It had been a very long day.

The door shut with a click.

For a time there was silence, broken only by the sound of Ori scuffing his feet against the wooden floor. It was enough to lull Bilbo into a half-trance while he watched colors dart back and forth across the backs of his eyelids. Here it was easy to pretend that nothing had gone wrong. Or at least it was until Ori finally managed to pull together the scraps of his courage and took a step forward.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“Did you really need help taking off your shoes?”

Bilbo cracked open one eye and then shut it again. “Not particularly. I may not have worn shoes before but I’m fairly certain that I can get them off since they button up the inside. I do have some experience with buttons.”

“Oh.”

It was quiet again.

This time it took until Bilbo had nearly fallen asleep before Ori spoke again.

“Bilbo?”

“Mm?”

“Was it true?”

There it was. “Was what true?” Bilbo asked mildly, too sleepy and comfortable in his chair to get tense again. Either Ori would accept it and agree to help him or he’d be turned over to the rest of the company as a traitor. There was little he could do now except answer Ori’s questions as he had done for Thranduil.

“What you said, about the dragon and – and doing it all over again?”

“How much did you hear?”

“I think I came in right after you, so most of it.” Ori shuffled over and sat down on the bed, his hands tucked underneath him as he kicked his legs back and forth, still staring very hard at the toes of his boots. “They wanted someone for you to lean on when you went back to the infirmary and I volunteered. The others did too, but I guess I looked less…”

“Prone to violence?” Bilbo’s lips turned up in a small smile.

The young dwarf had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Yes, I suppose so. I probably should have come and help you stand or said something, but then I started listening and…”

“I imagine it wasn’t quite what you expected to hear.” Bilbo stretched his legs out and rotated his ankles around, trying to ease some of the soreness. “But yes, it is true. I’m sorry that I’ve been hiding things from all of you, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. If the others found out – “

Ori blanched. “Oh dear.”

“Exactly. It’s been hard enough keeping everyone alive and away from certain dangers this time around without having to worry about being questioned about every step we take or what dangers we have yet to face. I’ve done my best so far, but things have already changed.”

There was a patting noise and Bilbo opened his eyes again to find Ori checking all of his pockets and pulling out a scrap of parchment. “What sort of changes? Can you tell me? Were the trolls here last time? I want to write it down, this absolutely fascinating.”

And just like that the tension was broken. There were no accusations of being a traitor or demands to know what was still coming. It seemed that for Ori this was simple another marvelous tale that needed to be properly recorded and illustrated.

“Ori, you know that if anybody else saw what you’d written I might be found out and I don’t think I’m ready to be held upside down by my ankles over somewhere high like some of the company would do if they found out what sort of secrets I’ve been keeping.”

“They wouldn’t!” Ori said, aghast. Bilbo gave him an ‘oh really’ look that had the scribe ducking his head again. He remembered Thorin doing exactly that when he discovered that Bilbo had given the Arkenstone to the enemies camped outside of their front gates. “Okay, so maybe some of them would. Do you really think that hiding it is a good idea though? I mean, what if we could help?”

Bilbo chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not sure if you could. I mean, think about it this way. The first time I went on this adventure we were all captured by those trolls and ended up in smelly sacks that smelled like dead sheep. They were going to roast us over their fire and the only reason we got away was because Gandalf came along and I managed to stall for time a bit.”

“None of that running about that we did? I thought that was brilliant except for the part at the end where you got nabbed.” There was a quill on the little desk in the corner and Ori plucked it up eagerly and instantly began to scribble on his parchment.

“No, I’m afraid we all got nabbed that time and rather easily too. It wasn’t our finest hour. The point is, what if I’d told you all that there were trolls in the woods? Would Thorin have led us off somewhere else and possibly into something worse that I didn’t know about? I just don’t know how to predict everything so most of the time I’ve just been making it up as I go along and hoping for the best. At least we’re all still alive right now, so I’m grateful for that. Somehow I don’t get the feeling that if I don’t get things right this time around I’ll be given another go at it.” The top buttons on his shoes were the hardest ones to undo since they were tight around his calves, but when Bilbo finally managed to get his fingernails underneath them they popped free and he was able to peel away his shoes.

Ori seemed to be thinking this over, chewing on the tip of his new quill. “So what you’re saying is that it’s best we not know anything or else we might make it worse?”

“Well that doesn’t sound very nice when you say it that way, but you have the right idea. I know what the ending is like, so I should be the one to get us there the right way.” One of the boots fell to the floor and Bilbo flexed his naked foot with a sigh of relief, not caring that all of the hair had been squashed flat. Hobbits weren’t meant to wear shoes – that’s why their feet were tougher than leather. But if Lanthiron thought they would help protect his wounds a bit better then he would just have to suffer the indignity for a little while longer. “It sort of feels like I read ahead to the last chapter in a book but the author keeps going back and making changes in the middle that I wasn’t expecting. I just don’t know if it’s all going to turn out the same.” Hopefully it wouldn’t and then they would all get a happy ending.

“Are - Were Dori and Nori okay? In the end?”

Bilbo’s fingers stilled on the buttons of his second boot, which was tighter on account of the bandages underneath it. “Ori…”

“I know you said you shouldn’t say because it could change things,” Ori added quickly, “and if you don’t want to tell me that’s okay. I just thought I would ask. Just in case.”

There was a quick mental tug-of-war. Half of Bilbo wanted to stay quiet on the subject while the other wanted to blurt out everything and set the dwarf’s mind at rest. “When I returned home at the end of everything they were both still alive. But,” he said quickly before Ori’s brilliant smile could get to him, “That doesn’t mean they will be this time. Like I said, things have been changing. You still have to look out for each other or something bad might happen.”

Ori nodded, his usually soft eyes going hard and determined. “I will. We always look after each other, it’s what family does. But I still want to write down everything that happened before, if you don’t mind. When you have time to tell me. I write in my own shorthand – even Nori can’t read it so you don’t have to worry about being found out through me. I’m good at keeping secrets.” Ori turned the paper around to show Bilbo a seemingly random scrawl of common letters and what must have been Khuzdul. “It might make a good story later on, when everything is over.”

With his second boot disposed of, Bilbo carefully propped his foot on a little stool and settled back more comfortably. “It just might. Well, where to start? You should probably know that the first time you all showed up at my door I wasn’t at all prepared for visitors and was still in my dressing gown. Having a bunch of dwarves tumble in and start raiding my pantry put me in quite a mood and it all seemed to go downhill from there…”

When Tauriel returned an hour later to collect Ori, she found the scribe scribbling furiously away at a very crowded piece of parchment. Bilbo was fast asleep in his armchair, snoring quietly with his head pillowed on his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would not believe how my muses fought me on this damn chapter. It seemed like every time I would sit down to work on it Bilbo would turn his back on me and get huffy. I'm pretty sure if I don't give him time to rest or something equally enticing he'll leave me completely. That being said, the next two chapters are going to be porn! Huzzah. With any luck you won't have to wait as long for them as you did for this chapter, so thank you all so much for being patient with me.


	41. You Are My Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Bondage, Smutty Nonsense, Blowjobs, Fingering

It was damp that began to wear on him first. It wasn’t a noticeable damp, or at least it hadn’t been at first, but there was a distinct difference between being underground in a forest and being underground in a mountain. In Erebor the dark had been comforting, knowing there was always stone at his back; a dry, steady presence that never failed to make him feel a little bit stronger. Even in the Blue Mountain the iron in the stone had sung to him. It wasn’t gold and jewels with their siren songs, but it had been enough to help him see his way when things had gotten tight and hopeless.

But here it was different – this was a dirty place. Moss had made its way down one of the walls of his prison cell, feeding on the drops of water that fell from the ceiling and made the whole place smell faintly of rot and water. It wasn’t strong, it wasn’t clean, it was filthy and wet earth and Thorin hated it with every fiber of his being. For the first week he had been able to ignore the constant sound of dripping and crumbling noises when dirt would fall out of the ceiling or the walls. Every day after that it had grown harder to tune out until even the smallest sound grated on his nerves and he felt as though he would never be dry again.

The king had known despair before, but not this sort. This was the worst of every sort of anguish – not knowing whether Fili and Kili were safe or whether the rest of the company was suffering like he was. Whether Bilbo was alive at all. The most he had seen of any of them was when they dragged him out of this pit and up to the throne room so that Thranduil could question him. At first he had railed at the elf, spewing curses and promises of revenge if he wasn’t released. All that had gotten him was a cuff by his guard and no supper. That had lasted for a while, until there was no change in their situation for nearly three weeks. After that his resolve began to wither away with his spirits and he sunk into a sullen silence whenever he was brought out. Clearly Thranduil had tired of him because for the last few days he had been left to himself.

Thorin wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not. Now the only company he had was the guards who brought him food and water twice a day and they rarely spoke to him. A jingle of keys had him looking up from where his head had fallen onto his chest but he quickly shut his eyes again. He was chained. Ragged. Weak. He didn’t need to see the pity or censure in the guard’s eyes to know it. It was best just to retreat back into himself and pray that one day it would end one way or another.

The dripping continued.

 __________________________________

It wasn’t hard to sneak by the guard at the door. All he had to do was stuff a couple of cushions under his blankets to make it look like there was someone tucked up underneath them and then slip out behind them when they came to leave dinner on the desk. Either Thranduil had ordered his people not to disturb Bilbo or the elves were simply non-intrusive, because the one who brought in the tray didn’t as much as glance towards the ‘occupied’ bed. Ignoring the rush of screaming and throbbing pain in his head, Bilbo and his magic ring had limped out the door and headed for the dungeon. With any luck Thorin was in the same cell that Thranduil had stuck him in last time and he wouldn’t be left to wander the halls all night with the Ring whispering all sorts of unpleasantness in his ear. It had taken him nearly an hour to work up the courage to put it on. After the last disastrous attempt that had left him nearly incapacitated Bilbo hadn’t been eager to don the thing again anytime soon. Sadly there hadn’t appeared to be any other choice, so finally he had simply reached out and slipped the thing on, prepared for the ice and the terrible voices.

He hadn’t been disappointed, but it hadn’t been as bad as last time either. No doubt it was because he knew what to expect and pain always seemed less when he knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it exactly pleasant. Nails scrambled at his insides, ice flooded his veins, but he didn’t gasp. He didn’t drop to the floor and clutch at his head. Instead Bilbo very carefully opened up a kitchen cupboard in the back of his mind and shooed all of the unpleasantness into it before locking it shut. After that it was easier to tune out as he slowly made his way down to Thranduil’s dungeons, leaning on the walls for support. Everything was still there, simply muted. After all, he’d already hurt enough in reality to be too bothered by a make-believe pain.

It took a little while for Bilbo to get down to the deepest, darkest part of the Woodland Realm. He had to move slowly since he hadn’t put his boots back on and didn’t want to accidentally step on a root or a rock, and he also had to wait and hide in the shadows whenever anyone would go by. He may have been invisible for all intents and purposes, but he still cast a wispy shadow when he stood in the light and didn’t want anyone to catch sight of his hobbit-sized smudge.

His luck held for what felt like the first time in months and he was able to make it most of the way without any sort of difficulty other than his throbbing foot. That was when he heard it.

“I believe it is your turn to bring the prisoner his meal.”

“Oh no, not again. All he does is glare at me when I do it. I don’t know why, it isn’t as though I’ve done anything to offend him.”

“At least you aren’t Telimas. I heard that he’s still bed-bound after that dwarf dragged him against the bars. That was why our King had him chained.”

“Such a violent race… yes alright, give me the tray. I’ll bring it down but I won’t unbind him for all the wine in the cellars. He can eat with one hand and stay far away from me.”

“That may be the wisest course of action.”

Bilbo pressed himself flush up against the wall as two elves walked by, one with a tray in his hands and the other with a key. If all of the other dwarves had been moved to their own rooms like Thranduil had promised, then they must have been talking about Thorin. As quietly as he could Bilbo trailed after the pair, making sure not to let his bandaged foot drag on the ground and alert them that they were no longer alone.

He didn’t have to travel far. The cell wasn’t too far from the guard station the two had come out of and was only illuminated by the single lantern that hung on the wall outside. Not even the bioluminescence could properly pierce the black and left most of the cell swathed in darkness. In it somewhere was Thorin. It was a simple enough matter to slip in behind the guard when he unlocked the barred door with the heavy ring of keys on his belt. 

Neither the guard with the food nor the one keeping watch at the door made any attempt to speak and there was no sound from the shadows to indicate that Thorin was there at all. The clatter of the tray being set down on the stone floor was oddly loud and not a moment later both guards were out of the cell and the door had been relocked, trapping Bilbo inside as neatly as you please.

Crouched in the darkest corner as he was, Bilbo dared not move or even breathe until the gate had been shut and locked again behind him and silence returned to the cell. Slowly he slid off the ring and tucked it into his vest pocket again, breathing a sigh of relief as it felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders upon its removal. There had never before existed a more wretched piece of jewelry, he decided. Not until his pocket was safely buttoned again did he scan the cell for its other occupant.

“Thorin?”  

There was no response or movement in the shadows. Bilbo squinted, but it did little to help him see.

“Thorin, it’s dark in here and if I trip over a rock and land on my face I’m not going to be very happy.”

Easing his way to his feet, Bilbo began to feel his way along one of the walls. It was slick with moss and didn’t have very many firm edges for him to hold onto, but it was better than walking blindly and hoping for the best.

Meanwhile, slumped in the corner of the cell with his hair curtained around his face and his wrists hanging limply from the shackles that bound him to the wall, Thorin was trying to convince himself that he was only hearing things. It had been so long since he had been stuck in this pit that he couldn’t say exactly how much time had passed. It was enough that when things were very quiet he would imagine that he could hear the faint voices of his companions drifting down from far above him. No doubt it had only ever been his imagination and now it was playing an even crueler trick on him. Guilt (or even more terrifying, madness) had finally caught up with him and it sounded like Bilbo Baggins.  There hadn’t been any way for him to discover whether the burglar had survived the orc ambush but it was easy to assume the worst since the last he had seen of Bilbo was his broken, bloody form being loaded onto the back of a horse.

"I'm sorry." His voice was rough and sore with disuse.

Bilbo paused, not particularly liking the rusty voice in the dark. He squinted into the corner it had come from but saw nothing. “I don’t know why you would be, it’s not as though you’ve done anything other than get yourself locked up.”

Thorin sucked in a breath and shifted, the chains holding him rattling quietly. "I couldn't stop them, Azog and - I just let it happen and I just - Bilbo I'm sorry."

“You weren’t even there so what could you have done? It’s not as though I blame you for – oh goodness, they really did chain you up, didn’t they? That seems a bit cruel…” Small hands brushed against the manacles around Thorin’s wrists as Bilbo explored them. They were thick, iron shackles connected by a long length of chain that had been looped through a ring further up on the wall. The whole thing made it so that whoever was wearing it could touch the ground if they were sitting, but only if the opposite arm was raised as high as it could go.

The close proximity alerted Thorin that he was _not_ in fact hearing things. The dwarf jolted at the touch before he jerked his head up and opened his eyes. Between the natural ability all dwarves had to see in the dark and his long incarceration, the king had no problem seeing the hobbit crouched in front of him. "Bilbo you're here!”

“Keep your voice down. Of course I’m here, where else would I be?” Bilbo said a little crossly as he tried to ascertain what sort of damage Thorin had managed to do to himself with the chains. His fingers met torn skin and scabs around the manacles but there wasn’t the slipperiness of fresh blood either. That was something. “What have you gotten yourself into, stubborn old dwarf?” His hands trailed away from the chains and instantly got caught by Thorin’s wild mane. “Goodness, your hair is a rat’s nest; I wish I’d thought to get my comb out of my pack.” Bilbo crouched in front of where Thorin was slumped with his back pressed into the corner and tucked the dwarf’s matted, oily hair behind his ears. It was hard to see exactly how bad Thorin looked, but he got enough of an idea. The dwarf’s eyes were sunken and his face looked far too lean. “Your beard has gotten scraggly,” Bilbo tried to tease, brushing his thumbs across the bruises under Thorin’s eyes as if he could fix them by wishing them gone.

He could almost feel Thorin’s gaze on him as the dwarf looked him over. “You’re pale and thin.  They have not been treating you well."

“Thank you, you’re very flattering. They’ve been very kind to me, really. I just had a bit of a bad spell for a little while. I’m better now, truly.” As casually as he could Bilbo shifted his mangled foot behind him so that Thorin couldn’t see the bandages.

“How did you find this place?" Thorin's eyes hardened and he looked to the bars of his cell. "Did he send you here? Is he trying to use you?"

"Thorin! Look at me." The dwarf's face was caught between Bilbo's hands and dragged up until their eyes met. "I snuck out. I wanted to find out where they were keeping you. Calm down."

It took a moment, but Thorin eventually sank back again as the tension left him. “You always were resourceful. I should have guessed as much, but they've told me nothing, and I’ve returned the favor. I don't know what happened to the others since I last saw them in their cells – Fili and Kili – but I'm relieved to see you alive at least. I only hope you have a plan for escaping again, Bilbo. I don't want you to get caught just because of me."

“The others are fine, as far as I know. I spoke with Thranduil and he’s had them all transferred to better rooms. I couldn’t convince him to do the same for you, even with as persuasive as I am.” Using the sleeve of his coat Bilbo tried to scrub away some of the dirt on Thorin’s face, but it seemed to be a hopeless battle. “I don’t think he trusts you. Can’t imagine why.”

"He's afraid." The chains jingled again as the dwarf tried to better situate himself against the damp wall. "I tried to escape once. One of his guards stood close enough that I could reach him and I tried to take his keys. Having his face smashed against the bars upset his head a bit."

"It did - I heard some of the guards talking. Next time you might try asking politely. That's always worked much better for me."

"If that elf has his way I will never leave this dungeon. He will leave me here to rot and my kin along with me."

Thorin's beaky nose was caught in a tight grip and given a hard jerk, making him grunt. "You're being dramatic,” Bilbo sighed. “Nobody is going to rot, I'll have us all out of here before you know it. Although if you look this bad when we do escape I doubt anyone will recognize you."

"How?” The dwarf whispered back nasally. “If you've spoken to that tree-shagger you'll know he won't bargain and there are guards just down the passage at all times." That was part of the reason Thorin was so quiet in addition to the fact that his voice hadn't seen this much use in the better part of a month.

"I'll think of something. Even if I have to shove you in a wine cask and send you down river, we will be getting out of here."

He’d expected a laugh or at least a smile at his little joke, but when Thorin turned his face away worry began to stir in the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach. "Well now, what's all this? I thought you'd be happy to see me." Bilbo's voice was low and soothing as he settled his hand on the back of Thorin's neck and rubbed gently. "There's really no need to fret. Before you know it we'll all be back together again and you'll have your cold, drafty mountain."

"Your presence is...grounding. I just did not think you would be so comfortable coming to find me. Not with the way I've treated you."

"Oh yes, I recall your command not to be 'distracting'. Shall I leave you to yourself so as not to disturb your thoughts? I could always come back again later." Catching hold of one of Thorin's tangled locks, Bilbo began to carefully finger-comb out the knots.

"No! I should have never said that to you."

Instantly Bilbo clapped both of his hands over Thorin's mouth to silence him. "Hush, if you're too loud someone will hear us and then I'll have to leave again. I was only teasing you, I know you didn’t really mean – well yes, you did but I could understand your reasoning."

His voice was stopped, but the stormy eyes still showed regret. With as low as Thorin's spirits had sunk his emotions were raw and he wore it all out in the open. No doubt he would have been mortified to be seen by any of the others in such a state, but they were his subjects and Bilbo was not. There was no need to play king here.

"I'm sorry I made you worry," Bilbo whispered. "I'm sorry. It's horrible down here and I know you're miserable. I'll make it better, I promise. I can still fix this." He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, holding there for a moment and trying to soak up the nearness of Thorin. It wasn't safe, it wasn't as private as he would have liked, but it felt wondrously good all the same. The touch was pressed into. It seemed that Thorin needed the comfort and _warmth_ of another being as much as Bilbo wanted this moment. Both of them had been alone for so long now, Thorin stuck with the silence and the dampness and Bilbo in the sterile infirmary that that they needed the distraction and the support of someone familiar.

It was hard to say how long they stayed like that, simply enjoying each other's company. It was probably no more than a few minutes, but it mended the little cuts on Bilbo's soul like a balm. The pain and suffering and loneliness slowly faded until they were simply memories and he could feel Thorin's nose pressed against his, his fingers buried in the king's tangled hair. Eventually though his foot began to protest his awkwardly crouched position and he had to move again. "Let me see what I can do with your hair."

Luckily Thorin submitted easily to the grooming. Quiet murmurs of apology for the state of the long locks went ignored. Bilbo knew that a dwarf's hair was a great pride in their society so to let it get to such a state was probably shameful to the exiled king. Not that there was anything Thorin could have done about it since he had been unwilling to let any of his captors touch him without threatening them. The hobbit wove and untangled as best he could with his fingers, though some of the knots were beyond his talents - only a thorough washing and brush would restore Thorin's hair, but at least he didn't look like he had just spent the last month wallowing in a dungeon. "Now here, look up and I'll wash your face. All I've got is Bofur's pocket as a handkerchief but I imagine it'll do well enough." The edge of the rough piece of cloth was dipped into the water that had been brought on the supper tray and Bilbo began to use it to scrub at the dirt and flecks of blood on Thorin's face and neck.

Most would have been shocked with how compliant the king was being. He lifted his head, turned it this way and that and let Bilbo tend to him without undue protest. Having his hair untangled and his face and neck cleaned did enough for his spirits that he could lean forward again and touch his forehead to Bilbo's again. "Thank you."

In the dark it was easy for Bilbo to feel brave, so it was a simple matter to tilt his head a little bit so that their lips brushed. "You're welcome."

Rather than chase after the whisper of a touch when Bilbo pulled back, Thorin seemed to retreat back into himself again. "I thought you didn't want..."

"I was a bit busy being mad at you, if you recall."

"From before. Before I told you to not be a distraction."

That was right. After their one night together he had done his best to avoid Thorin, thinking that the best course of action was for them not to get attached. Losing Thorin again...it was unthinkable. "I was scared."

Thorin's whole body tensed up and instantly Bilbo knew he’d misspoken. The dwarf's frustration was evident as he grit his teeth and closed his eyes in shame.

"Not of you! Or - or any of what we did! That part was lovely. I was scared of something happening - what if we got distracted because we were carrying on? I'm not exactly dwarven nobility either, I doubt it's appropriate - "

"No one would question you." Thorin rushed to interrupt. "Not in our company. We know your worth; you've more than proven yourself. And they all know that I wouldn’t tolerate anything ill said against you."

"I know, but - it's complicated. It wasn't that I didn't want you." The damp cloth was dropped and Bilbo's hands returned to Thorin's face, curling in the hollows of his cheeks.

"And now?"

"I don't think that there's any danger we need to worry about right now."

There was a short silence between them. "Right now?"

Bilbo's lips returned, pressing soft and hungry against Thorin's jaw. It seemed that he did indeed mean right now.

"Bilbo there are guards!" The dwarf hissed.

"So you had best be quiet if you don't want to get caught," the hobbit whispered back.

The chains rattled as Thorin leaned into his cuffs. "I can't do this chained up. How am I supposed to...?"

The realization that he could do as he pleased and Thorin wouldn't be able to grab him or pin him down was heady and Bilbo hoped that Thorin couldn't see his grin in the dark. The dwarf was far too used to being in charge. "All you have to do is keep quiet. I'll do the rest." In a flash his hands were on the ties of Thorin's tunic, undoing the laces all the way to the bottom until it sagged open and he could bury his hands in the thick, dark hair across the dwarf's chest. Something wild had awakened in him and now it refused to be lulled back to sleep again.

Thorin captivated eyes followed Bilbo’s hands before he managed to shake himself and turned his attention to the bars. "This isn't a good idea."

“I’m not so fat-headed to think all of my ideas are good. But sometimes a bit of bad is good for the spirit.” It took a bit of feeling around, but Bilbo managed to find Thorin’s nipple and began to tease it until it pebbled under his fingers.

"Bilbo..." Thorin swallowed and kept his voice low as he ducked his head. "What if they hear?"

"They won't if you aren't noisy." Warm lips pressed into the hollow of Thorin’s throat and began to trail downwards, across his collar bones one at a time and then down his sternum.

"Don't-!" Raising one arm up Thorin could get the other down in an attempt to grab Bilbo and keep him from getting lower. "I don't trust my own voice. I don't want you to get caught."

"You have better self-control than that; quit trying to pull my hair!" Bilbo hissed, ducking under Thorin's grasping hand and ending up all but sprawled in his lap.

Thorin made a frustrated noise when Bilbo dropped down out of reach. "That doesn't mean we need to test the ears of elves."

There was a sigh from somewhere around the vicinity of Thorin's hip. "Thorin, I've been chewed on, thrown about, nearly crushed, poked, prodded, drugged, and interrogated in the last month. Are you really trying to tell me to leave off right now? Besides, the guardroom had a door. I imagine they probably closed it when they went back," Bilbo murmured, feeling Thorin's muscles relax a little bit beneath his hands as the dwarf gave over. It was so nice to finally be able to touch someone again, even if the situation wasn't exactly ideal.

"I'll keep quiet. Just," Thorin tried to move his legs beneath Bilbo's weight, "don't do anything surprising."

"I can't do that much with you trussed up like that, don't worry." It wasn't hard to push Thorin's legs far enough apart that Bilbo could make a cozy little space for himself between them. It seemed like their jailors had left washing water once in a while, because Thorin didn't smell terrible. Just sort of damp and musky, like the woods after a hard rain. "I missed you."

"Did they tell you I was here?" Thorin’s legs twitched when Bilbo settled between them. "Or did you figure it out on your own?"

"Yes, I missed you too, Bilbo. Thanks for coming all the way down here to make sure that I was alright even though your foot hurt like bollocks, Bilbo," the hobbit grumbled, giving Thorin's side a hard pinch through his unlaced tunic. "Of course, it was no trouble. None at all. I would have done it for anyone."

"Ouch!" Thorin tried to jerk himself away from the pinching fingers. "Of course I missed you and I...I needed you. You'd never let those elves hurt the others no matter your condition and I should have known better than to doubt your own survival."

It wasn't exactly a declaration of undying love, but it did help to settle Bilbo's tousled feathers a little bit. He snorted and rubbed the spot he had pinched. "Thorin, you may be a king but I think that you should let someone else be the diplomat. You're better with a sword than with words." It wasn't hard to lean up and press a kiss to Thorin's bristled chin. "And right now I'd appreciate it if you didn't use them at all for a little while."

Their jailors had stripped him of most of his finery, leaving him in only his loose undershirt, his trousers, and his heavy boots. The boots Bilbo didn’t even bother with – they would take far too long to remove and putting them back on again when he had to make his escape would be a hassle. As his eyes adjusted to the dark it was easier for Bilbo to see the way the dark blue tunic hung loose from Thorin’s shoulders, open from his neck all the way down to his belly. With a sigh of appreciation Bilbo stroked the back of his knuckles down the dwarf’s ribs, familiarizing himself with them all over again. It wasn’t a strenuous task.

The dwarf inhaled deeply and puffed up like a bird putting on a display and Bilbo had to work to hold in his laugh when he felt Thorin rise up under his hands. “You aren’t impressing anybody,” he lied, his amusement evident as he leaned in close again and tickled his way down the dwarf’s sides. This wasn't meant to be a time to worry or fight; right then it was just the two of them and it was a relief that went deeper than the physical being able to laugh and touch and simply bask in each other’s company even if it was only for a short while.

Thorin squirmed under the light touch against his ribs. "Yet your hands continue to explore." The dwarf breathed, a hint of humor in his voice. "You must not be disappointed."

“No, or at least not yet. Give me a minute and then I’ll decide if you still pass muster.” Bilbo made a mental note to look into Thorin’s reaction to having his ribs played with later on. If the dwarf turned out to be ticklish that was definitely something he wanted to explore properly. Sliding down a bit more, Bilbo twisted onto his side between Thorin’s spread legs so that he could keep his weight off his foot and rubbed his nose against Thorin’s hip where it met his pants.

Already the dwarf was hardening and he rolled his hips so Bilbo couldn't ignore that fact. "You won't be," he promised, his very voice dropping from the strained rasp to a husky one.

Since he wouldn't have been disappointed even if Thorin had bow legs and knobbly knees, Bilbo was fairly certain he was right. After all, even though he was very nicely formed as far as dwarves went, hobbits had different standards for what was pleasing. But it was Thorin and that was all that mattered. Thorin with his rough voice and noble intentions. His dedication. History may have changed but some things never would and Bilbo clung to that like a candle in a dark place as he leaned up and caught Thorin's lips in a burning kiss that he wished could go on until he melted into a puddle in the dwarf's lap. Thorin didn't try to add any ferocity to the kiss, only responded and nipped at Bilbo’s lips until he could deepen it. The fire burning between them was only strengthened as they came together and the chains were strained against, making them clatter.

The noise made Bilbo's eyes fly open again and he pulled back. "Don't hurt yourself," he murmured.

Thorin breathed out and his eyes barely fluttered open. "If these chains were gone I would have you properly."

"I don't imagine this is the cleanest place for that, if I must be perfectly honest."

"And still here we are." Thorin had enough room to lean forward and press lips to Bilbo's ear. It was only when the hobbit was sitting up as he was that he could reach, but he would take the chance given.

"I was planning on - ooh, yes, that's lovely. You can keep doing that..." It was almost like being drunk. For so long it seemed that there was only pain and misery to be had, but with Thorin's legs on either side of him and his mouth pressing against the sensitive curve of his ear, Bilbo felt practically intoxicated.

"Shh." Another kiss was pressed against Bilbo’s sensitive lobe before Thorin’s too clever tongue began to trace along the rim. The very tip was caught and gently nibbled. If it had been more private Bilbo would have moaned. If it had been more private he would have gasped and cooed and probably let Thorin continue on until he was breathless and sobbing with the pleasure of having his ears played with. But it wasn't. He couldn't. So with barely a peep Bilbo quickly yanked his head away and slithered back down again, out of reach of Thorin's devilish mouth and chained hands.

"Later," he whispered. There were going to be so many 'laters'...

Thorin leaned as far as the chains allowed as he tried to follow Bilbo's retreat. "If you stole the keys and freed me we wouldn't have to wait."

Bilbo just shook his head as he began to undo the ties of Thorin's pants with shaking hands. There was too much risk of being caught if he attempted that since both guards were awake and would no doubt notice if their keys went walking. “I’m a burglar, not a thief. We’ll just have to go without for now.”

With a heavy sigh Thorin leaned back against the mossy wall and turned his eyes up. He didn't need to watch to know exactly what Bilbo was doing. As the ties were loosened the pressure grew more bearable until the hobbit released him from his trousers. Already a half full erection rose eagerly for attention from the equally excited fingers that had struggled with the laces.

There was too little time to properly admire Thorin’s thick length as it pressed greedily into his hands. The guards could return at any moment and every second was one more stolen. Rather than giving the chained dwarf the attention he deserved, Bilbo quickly leaned forward and swallowed up the tip of him, lapping away at his slit and the salty musk he found there.

There was no stopping Thorin’s quiet groan and Bilbo's warm mouth and soft, tantalizing tongue were almost the cause of their discovery as the dwarf fought to contain his gasps and cries. Soon enough his breath was coming quicker, the tip of his cock beginning to ooze precum as the stimulation continued. "Bilbo...ah..."

"Shh," the hobbit cautioned him before he hooked his fingers in the tops of Thorins’ trousers and urged his hips up so that he could tug them lower, exposing the king down to his knees. The stone was cold against bare skin, but being chained up kept Thorin from protesting against the further removal of his clothes. He still grunted quietly to show his displeasure. "Why did you do that?"

"When I say 'shh', that does not mean 'start talking'," Bilbo snapped. "If I have to tell you again I'm going to have to go and leave you with your pants down. They'll come back at this rate and I don't fancy being locked up next door." It was an effective threat – the idea of being discovered by elves in such a vulnerable position was enough to make Thorin’s mouth shut with a snap.

When there was no forthcoming reply Bilbo allowed himself a small smile of victory before he lowered his head and began to trace the thickest vein of Thorin's shaft with his tongue. Bossing Thorin around was usually about as successful as using one's head to smash through a stone wall, but once in a while logic could win him over and Bilbo was able to bend the dwarf to his will. Of course Thorin would never admit to being beaten. He refused to look as Bilbo returned to licking contently at the hot flesh of his erection. Instead he worked his jaw and seemed content to concentrate on simply breathing.

From down the hall came the sound of laughter from the guardroom. Every bit of Bilbo's sensible Baggins side was shouting that this was a Spectacularly Bad Idea, but when Thorin rolled his hips forward in a mute plea for more there was no way that he could deny him. It was so easy to soften his throat and let Thorin thrust into his willing mouth. The dwarf happily took the opportunity. From the way his muscles were tight and trembling Bilbo knew he was trying not to lose control, but Thorin couldn't help trusting into the delicious warmth.

‘Greedy’ Bilbo thought to himself as he pulled back a bit so as not to choke, but there was no real ire behind it. It wasn’t Thorin’s fault that he was a built a bit more liberally than most hobbits, so Bilbo simply hummed in encouragement and glanced up through his curly hair at Thorin, enjoying the multitude of expressions that were passing across his face in rapid succession. A particularly hard suck made the dwarf’s jaw tighten and whenever Bilbo pulled back to swirl his tongue across the tip Thorin looked practically rapturous. Biting his lips and gasping like a drowning man seemed to be the only things keeping Thorin from moaning out loud. He huffed when Bilbo lowered his head again and sucked hard all the way back up to the tip, the warmth and the pressure already beginning to overwhelm him.

The salty taste of precum was filling Bilbo's mouth and when he pulled back to breathe a sticky drop of it clung to his bottom lip. It wasn't his favorite flavor by far, but it was something he knew he could come to crave if this was what it was associated with. It was addicting seeing Thorin choke back his pleasure like this. A small, wicked voice began to wonder just how far he could push the king before he broke. The chains clicked and jingled as Thorin pulled them - the dwarf wanted nothing more than to be free in that moment to give Bilbo a reason to cry out. Bilbo doubted Thorin had ever had hold back like this or been put in such a helpless position before, and maybe it was cruel but he couldn’t help but enjoy it.

"You're so handsome." The words slipped out unbidden, but were true nonetheless. Even when ragged and gaunt from imprisonment Thorin was striking. Sweat gleamed as it trailed down the side of his neck, tracing the tendons there before coming to rest in the hollows of his collarbone. Bilbo's mouth watered to lick it away but his foot was already protesting how much he had shifted about and he knew that it wasn't a good idea to test it. Instead he pillowed his head on Thorin's thigh and let both of his hands run down their inside until he could cup the dwarf's sac, massaging it with skillful hands. Thorin convulsed under his hands, although whether he was shying away from the praise or the new touch was unclear. He was weak. Dirty. Chained. Hardly the state for a proper king, but that didn’t seem to matter when Bilbo was touching him. Even the phantom touches left from Bilbo's mouth were enough as he let go of a breathy sigh as cum shot from the red tip of his cock and splashed across Bilbo’s startled face.

"Oh!" Bilbo jolted and instantly clapped a hand over his mouth to silence his exclamation, glancing worriedly towards the bars. There was nothing, but his heart continued to race as he used his sleeve to wipe the cum off his face and out of his hair. "Give a lad a bit of warning, would you?" He shouldn’t have been surprised though. After all, Thorin had been locked up and alone for so long that it was surprising he’d lasted as long as this. His ego was probably smarting though.

The look Thorin gave his companion was only tempered by his post orgasm-haze. The both of them were a mess thanks to his copious spendings and the dwarf couldn't say one word on it thanks to Bilbo’s threat of leaving him exposed for the guards to find.

"Fine, you can talk. Just don't be too loud or else..." The promise hung between them as Bilbo finished cleaning up his face and shifted uncomfortably, the combination of his own erection that was trapped behind the laces of his pants and the weight on his leg conspiring against him.

"How was I supposed to warn you? I can't say I'm used to that sort of treatment." Thorin’s voice was rusty, as if his imposed silence had rubbed it completely raw.

"Are you complaining? Truly?"

"No, you asked!" Thorin hissed. "I wasn't complaining, just…" He made a helpless gesture with his chained hands.

"So sorry your majesty, was my touch not reverent enough? Let me try again and I'll give a better reckoning of myself..." As if he could let a comment like that go uncontested. Although Thorin must have still been oversensitive from his release, Bilbo's hands returned to his half-hard cock and began a slow, firm pump that he knew would drive Thorin up the wall he was leaning against. Instantly Thorin dug the heels of his boots dug into the floor as he tried to push away from the over-stimulation.

"Better?" Bilbo asked, wickedness in his voice as he worked the frantic king. He was going to pay for this later but it was impossible to resist when Thorin was writhing in front of him.

The dwarf was still whispering when he opened his mouth again, which was a miracle in and of itself, but it was much higher pitched. "I wasn't complaining...before."

"Mmm, is that so? Well, then I'm sure you won't mind if I'm not quite finished yet." His jaw was sore from the rough treatment earlier, so he laved his attention on Thorin's meltingly soft tip instead, licking and suckling away the last traces of his release. He wasn’t what he would consider ‘experienced’ when it came to such an action since most of his lovers later in his life had been lady hobbits, but the theory never changed that much. The pursuit of pleasure was a worthy effort and all it took was knowing where to press his tongue, how hard to suck and just when to lift his head so Thorin couldn't push further in.

The dwarf would probably be sore later but the near painful pleasure was so intense that a quiet moan escaped and Thorin was so lost he didn't even seem to notice. This time he wasn't hushed because Bilbo was just as consumed. One of Thorin's legs was pressed flush against his back where he was sprawled between them, the desperation and lust infecting him like a poison. His mouth was hot and wild, working as feverishly as his hands to bring Thorin to the edge again. Stormy blue eyes locked with devious brown in a battle of wills and Bilbo reached up and slipped two of his fingers into his mouth alongside Thorin's shaft, licking them until they were drenched. Thorin didn’t notice.

Or rather, he didn’t notice them until Bilbo was pushing them between his splayed legs, between his buttocks, pushing them against his hole. They were warm and slippery with spit, the caress firm and insistent until Bilbo finally pushed one of them inside of him up to the knuckle.

With the air between them hot with passion Thorin only half registered the press at first. When the first finger pressed in he gasped and tried to dig into the ground with his heels again to get away, but with the way they were tangled he was trapped. There was a hint of distress that passed through his expression, uncertainty, before the attentions of Bilbo's talented tongue wiped it away. Clearly Bilbo was determined to push him all the way to the edge of insanity because that finger began to curl, pressing against him and up, rubbing against him in the most invasive, intimate way possible. "Say when," Bilbo murmured against his cock.

"Mahal's hammer...When what?” Thorin shuddered, pulling hard at his manacles with his hands wrapped around the chains so that the metal wouldn’t savage his wrists. Bilbo knew the exact moment he touched the right place inside his lover. The look on his face was a ferocious mixture of the pleasure and shock when he was forced to a second orgasm too close to the previous one to have been allowed enough time to completely recover. This time Bilbo was ready for it, thankfully. He swallowed Thorin's release, milking him for every last drop and not letting up on his relentless assault on the dwarf's overstimulated senses until he was gasping and boneless.

Later this ordeal could be reflected on and Thorin could reason out that it was payback. The time he'd spent with Bilbo in Beorn's he'd done nearly this exact thing to his companion. He'd pulled the smaller male to the edge and then dragged him well beyond it until he was incoherent. As if was, when his gasps and breathing started to get too loud he tried to squeeze Bilbo with his legs, to pull back, to do anything to just make the touches _stop_. His softening cock fell from Bilbo's lips with a wet popping noise and the hobbit finally pulled his finger back and reached up to rub his sore jaw, looking like the fox that had gotten into the hen house.

“Now that was much better.”

Thorin looked like he’d been run over by a heard of ponies. The chained dwarf was exhausted - his head had dropped forward and his eyelids were already starting to close as his mind drifted, trying to take him to sleep so he could recover.

“Someone probably heard us, I should go. I’ll be back soon and have you out of here before you can say ‘tea time’.”

"You have a plan?" Although fatigue was making it difficult to concentrate, Thorin wasn't so far gone that he couldn't still whisper back. He wanted more than anything to be free of this cell and to continue on to the mountain and hadn't had any other hint of hope save this since his capture.

“Most of one.” It took a fair bit of urging, but Bilbo managed to get Thorin to lift his hips up again so that he could refasten the king’s trousers. “Just try not to cause any more trouble, okay?”

"I make no promises." Thorin was too tired to be defensive about Bilbo touching him and easily gave in and was redressed.

"Just don't hit - " Bilbo froze in the act of relacing Thorin's tunic, his eyes wide like a deer as the sound of voices drifted down the dungeon hallway to them.

"I'm certain I heard another voice."

"Don't be foolish, who in their right mind would descend to this level? We would have seen them walk by the door."

"I understand, but I think that we should make our rounds all the same."

Bilbo's eyes met Thorin's. "Good bye," he whispered.

"Don't get caught."

"I won't, I'll be back before you know it."

A gentle kiss was pressed against the corner of Thorin’s lax mouth - the same as had been done all those weeks ago back in the thieves’ den and then Bilbo was gone as if he had never been.

 

__________________________________

“Miss Tauriel?”

“What?” The captain snapped, spinning on the heel of her boot, ready to rip into whoever thought to interrupt her on her way back to her quarters. All she wanted right now was a long bath and a fresh uniform so that she could get back to work. Her time with the brothers had been pleasant and more than a little amusing, but now she was ready to work out the ache in her back and get back to work. Or at least until she saw the Halfling standing directly behind her.

“Master Baggins. I was under the impression that you were confined to your room.” How had he gotten past the guards anyway? Forget about doubling their daily exercises, she was going to triple them for this.

“And I was under the impression that I was a guest rather than a prisoner. I simply took a short walk through the halls to ease the ache in my leg. It’s good for the health, you know. Walking.” The Halfling’s expression was mild as he nodded at his bandaged foot. Tauriel instantly knew she wasn’t being told the entire story, but she could hardly pick up the hobbit and shake or threaten it out of him. Mister Baggins was indeed a guest and Thranduil wouldn’t take well to being told that his captain was assaulting the Twice-Born.

“Indeed. Might I escort you back to your room if you are finished with your ‘walk’?”

“That would be marvelous, thank you. Tell me Miss Tauriel, are you well acquainted with the prince of this kingdom?” The hobbit was limping more than a little bit as they walked but Tauriel didn’t offer him her hand. They all had their pride.

“Prince Legolas and I are very familiar. I would consider him my closest friend.” There couldn’t be any harm in that tidbit of information. It was common knowledge that she and Legolas had always favored each other’s company.

“Good! You see, I was having a bit of a think and I remembered something that might interest you about him.”

Tauriel stopped, her brow furrowed. “That might interest me?” She repeated.

The Halfling nodded, a crafty look about him that made Tauriel feel like she was being left out of a private joke. “Oh yes. I mean, it hasn’t happened yet and you probably shouldn’t tell him about it, but I think you would find it rather amusing.”

“Do tell, Master Baggins.” Now her interest had been caught.

“That’s just the thing though – I’m in a bit of a bind what with all of these dwarves I’ve been traveling with being locked up. It seems counterproductive to just go blurting out secrets without expecting anything in return.”

“I’m not the one you need to bargain with for favors. Thranduil has control over your company, not me.” Of course he wanted something.

“No, but I think that you could be more than a little bit helpful and you wouldn’t even be betraying the order of your king.” Bilbo’s smile grew. “It’s a very good secret.”  

Tauriel glanced back the way she had come. “Fine. Tell me your secret, Twice-Born.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Veskasa for helping me out with the smut (she is a saint).
> 
> There is now ART FOR THIS CHAPTER! Check it out:  
> [Mirkwood Dungeon Porn by speakfriendandenter](http://speakfriendandenter.tumblr.com/post/109318419326/mirkwood-dungeon-porn-under-the-cut-more/)   
> It is EXTREMELY NSFW.


	42. Freedom and the Price Paid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Nightmares, Illness, Emotional Pain

“Don’t put my beads in your mouth, darling. They can’t taste very good.”

“Aye, there are much tastier things to stick in there.”

“Thrain!”

“What love, he’s too young to understand.”

“You’d be surprised what young ears pick up. Hold him for a moment so I can get that thing out of his mouth before he swallows it.”

_Namad?_

A great black beard run through with gray filled his vision and a dwarf who had always seemed as vast as the mountain itself.

_Adad?_

“Up we go! Look at this handsome lad - smile for you Ada, there we are! He’s got your smile, Fris.”

“Thank goodness he doesn’t have yours or I might mistake him for a bear cub.”

“Oh no, I’m the only bear here and I’m going to eat up my lovely wife!”

“Thrain! Stop that at once, you’ll drop Thorin.”

_This – this can’t be - you’re–_

There was the taste of copper in his mouth and he tried to spit it out but his body didn’t seem to be listening to him. All he could do was watch as a pair of golden eyes appeared in the dark depths of Thrain’s bead and a raven pushed its way out of the dwarf’s chest, staring at him while his parents laughed together, unaware that anything was wrong.

“Dead!” It croaked at him. “They’re dead! You’re dead! You’ll all be dead!”

_I’m not! Not yet!_

The raven cawed at him as it spread its wings. “Not yet. Beware, son of Thrain!”

_Beware what? What’s happening? Tell me!_

“Beware! There are worse things than dragons in your cursed mountain. Beware the blue knife and the dragon’s fire for they shall ride together!”

The copper bead in his mouth melted and poured down his throat, as hot as if it was molten and sought to burn him alive from the inside out. The raven’s laughter echoed in his ears and he tried to shut his eyes and block it out, but Thrain’s hands tightened on his sides and his father’s skin _crawled_. Every inch of him exploded with black feathers and a hundred black ravens peeled off of him, shredding armor and skin and destroying everything that had been the great prince even as Thorin struggled to do something. Anything. He was trapped in this nightmare though, held fast as gentle hands became twisted claws.

_Adad! Adad, no!_

The last raven took flight and Thorin started to shake as Smaug gazed down at him, bloodied teeth bared in a twisted parody of a smile. His hide gleamed with rubies and coins and they fell around him in a golden rain.

“Beware the dragon’s fire, ha!” He roared, his voice so loud and terrible that Thorin thought his ears would bleed from it. “I took it once and now it will be mine forever!”

_Namad, run! Run! Smaug is here!_

Vris had her back to Thorin and Smaug, dressed in royal blue with her long black hair done up in the elaborate rings Thorin remembered her putting in before they would go to sit in court. When she turned everything seemed to slow. Even the fire in his chest faded as he looked upon her blackened, charred visage and the empty eye sockets that were still smoking.

“Be brave, my treasure.”

Thorin _screamed_ as Vris dissolved into ashes and Smaug’s mouth opened up and swallowed him whole.

The darkness came as a relief.

__________________________________

_Shhh…_

Once when they had been much younger he and Frerin had escaped from their lessons and gone wandering about on the slopes of the mountain. Too young for their stone sense to tell them where was safe to walk, Frerin had gotten himself stranded up on a patch of loose gravel and Thorin had been the one to go up to fetch him back down again. He’d only made it halfway before the stones had gone out from under his feet and sent him tumbling back down, right into a boulder. Frerin had gotten a nice scratch down his cheekbone and torn up palms when he’d come running after. Thorin had broken his collarbone and been stuck in bed for the entire next week. When they’d both recovered Vris had beaten them both within an inch of their lives for worrying her so much.

This hurt a lot more than a broken collar bone or his mother’s wooden spoon.

_Shhh…_

Blue eyes slowly opened and Thorin regarded the bright cloudless sky with bemusement. When was the last time he’d heard the wind in the grass like this? It seemed like a very long time ago. If this was a dream he liked it much more than the last one – there was a distinct lack of dragons for one thing. The sun felt like the warmth kiss on his face and he sighed, letting his eyes shut again so that he could enjoy it a little longer before he awoke in chains again.

“Oi, don’t be driftin’ off you lay-about.” A hard finger poked him in the side and Thorin made a face.

“Go away you fat arse, I’m sleeping.”

“No you aren’t, I saw you open your eyes and I’m bored of sittin’ here playing nursemaid.”

Thorin opened his eyes again and leveled Dwalin with as much of a glare as he could manage with the sun shining right in his eyes. “Looks like I’ve really gone mad if I’m dreaming about your ugly face.”

“Look who’s talkin’! You look like a warg drug you through a cow field by your hair.” Dwalin was sitting next to him, braiding together a couple of pieces of brown grass into a war knot. He had his knuckle dusters on and his axes lay next to him and the dwarf seemed healthy enough with the exception of the colorful bruise on his cheekbone and the general gauntness of his face.

Clearly not a dream, but for some reason he had no memory about how he’d come to be lying in the grass with his coat over his legs and what felt like a bedroll pillowing his head. A bird flew by overhead, something small and brown. Thorin watched it until it was out of sight.

“Do you remember the blue dress?” He asked quietly.

“Vris’ blue dress?”

Thorin nodded, trying not to aggravate the headache that he could feel lurking behind his eyes and in his temples.

“Yeah,” Dwalin sighed, dropping his grass knot and leaning back on his hands. “Thought she was th’ prettiest thing in the mountain when she’d wear it to court. Think half the mountain was in love with your mum.”

“I was dreaming about - shit.” As quickly as he could Thorin rolled over onto his hands and knees and was quietly sick into the grass. His stomach didn’t seem to care that it was completely empty and there was nothing left to lose - it twisted like all of his guts had turned into biting, toxic cobras. Dwalin came over and silently held his hair away from his face. When he finally managed to stop heaving he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. It came away crimson.

“What happened?” He breathed as he sat back, staring at the stain.

Dwalin let go of his hair and gave his back a soft pat before he settled back on his heels. “We made it out. Mostly thanks to your hobbit, but most of the lads ain’t too pleased with how he managed it. He gave me this when I said so.” He tapped the bruise on his cheekbone.

“Bilbo hit you?” Thorin’s nausea was momentarily forgotten.

“Yeah, got right up on his toes and popped me a good one. Think he was aiming for my eye but couldn’t get up high enough to make it. Anyway, figured watching o’er you until he simmered down was probably best so he didn’t go after me with his little pig sticker of a sword. Or those needles.”

Thorin’s stomach tried to rebel again but he grit his teeth and forced it down, looking around to try to distract himself from how terrible he felt. The rest of the company was spread out in the dead grass. Some were napping while others were talking quietly or going through their packs. Just a short way away from where they were all gathered was a fast-flowing river with rocky shores and beyond that…It could only be Lake-Town, sitting on stilts out in the lake like a mangy half-dead water bird that hadn’t seen a good meal in many a year. “And how exactly did he manage it?” He asked slowly, eyes trailing up from the town to what he knew lay beyond it.

Erebor.

A bolt of longing and dread shot down his spine and made him shiver.

_Beware the blue knife and the dragon’s fire…_

“Sorry, what?” Dwalin had started to talk and he’d missed everything, too lost in his own thoughts to notice that he was being addressed.

Dwalin shook his grey head and gestured towards the mountain. “Seems so close, but I don’t remember feelin’ this way before. Like there’s something hangin’ o’er it.”

“Like a curse.”

“I don’t believe in curses. Babe stories if you ask me. But there’s somethin’ off and I don’t like it.”

"A dragon slumbers amongst our gold. Perhaps that is what bothers you."

"Might be. And t' think - I'd finally stopped dreaming about fire and now we're headin' right back again! Bunch’a fools we are...at least we're outta the dungeon, eh?" He nudged Thorin with his elbow. "Forgot how good fresh air smells."

Thorin’s stomach churned, but the burn wasn't enough to send him back to the grass. Instead he winced and lowered his head, refusing to let Dwalin see his weakness. "Great beings are always called fools before they are recognized. What we are doing will matter. We will…we will have our home back."

"Breathe, you idiot. Got to get that poison outta you before we get anythin' back. Some king you'd make, getting your throne back and pukin' blood all o'er it first thing.”

"Poison?"

"Oh, right. I was tellin' you about that. That's how Bilbo got you out." Dwalin nodded his head back behind him. There was Bilbo, looking frazzled and more than a little upset as he spoke with three mounted elves on white horses. He was wearing a pair of tall black boots that looked very strange with his short pants and his coat was sopping wet. The hobbit was making some wild gestures and at least two of the elves looked like they were trying not to laugh at him.

The king's mind, clouded as it was, took a few extra seconds to process that information. When he finally felt the full effect of what Dwalin said his body tensed and he turned to look at the floundering hobbit. "He poisoned me? How?!" Bilbo could have _killed him_. He hadn't even given any sort of warning!

"Not quite sure, he won't talk to anyone about it. Balin had a fit when he found out what was happenin'. I've never seen him so made before. All I know is he somehow managed to talk that elf bastard into lettin' us walk free. Not you though. Think he wanted to keep you locked up until everyone forgot you were ever alive." Dwalin stuck a piece of grass in the corner of his mouth and chewed on it for a minute before spitting it out again. "Bloody mess if you ask me."

Before Thorin could say more he started to cough and bent over, arms wrapped tightly around his middle until the nausea passed. He wouldn't put it passed Thranduil to keep him locked away, but he'd gone from the darkness to this grassy hill and that was a lot of time in between. The king hated losing time. "He poisoned me. He didn't tell me - I need to know what he was _thinking_." Thorin tried to get his feet under him, to rise so he could confront their burglar.

"Oi! Oin made you up something nasty and got it down you - said it would help, but I don't think rushin' around is goin' t' help much. Sit yer arse down." A quick jerk on his sleeve had Thorin toppling over again. "You're gonna get me in trouble too if you keep that up."

Sitting next to him was not just a guard. It was Dwalin, his friend, his shield brother. Dwalin who had been punched by a hobbit for his sake and who sat over him now to keep him safe. Bilbo's temper was not to be underestimated and still here Dwalin sat. Thorin didn't try to move again, too proud to ask for support when his vision swam, but not so much so to ignore that he was sick. "Next time I throw up it's going to be on you."

"Wouldn't expect anythin' less, but you should also know that if you do I'm makin’ you eat it."

Thorin allowed himself a smile and nudged his friend. "I'm poisoned. You would do more damage?"

"I'd punch you in the sack if it'd keep you from hurtin' yourself more, idiot."

Since it was coming from Dwalin it was easy for Thorin to stay calm under the verbal threat. He did turn away when he thought he was about to be sick again, but after swallowing the urge he breathed out shakily. His sights were still set on Bilbo again, his mind racing with questions and his anger and betrayal quickly crowding out logical thinking. "What else happened?"

Dwalin pulled on his beard, looking uncomfortable. "Well, what were we supposed to do? No one much liked it, but they sent us off with those three over there and all our gear too. Bofur noticed that Bilbo made himself scarce while we were gettin' everythin' ready t' go and then we were off. We'd planned t' give 'em the slip part way and come back for you," he added.

"And then when he reappeared I came with him?"

"Not really," Dwalin hedged, now not even looking at Thorin. "There was a bit of a commotion and we left before we could figure out what was goin' on. Your hobbit rode up with one of them," he jerked his head at the three elves, one of whom had dismounted and was shaking Bilbo's hand. "Anyway, your two boys just about had a fit, thinkin' we'd left you behind on purpose. After we got far enough away I dragged the burglar off the horse and gave him a bit of a shake. That's when he hit me and showed me that you'd been wrapped up in one of the bedrolls."

"What?!"

"I said the same."

Thorin knew he was getting too worked up for his condition, but he pressed on. "What deal did he make with the elves?"

"I dunno. Nobody does - he won't say. But judgin' by how you were wrapped up I'm guessin' Thranduil wasn't really on board with it."

Thorin's expression said it all. Even if he was still choking on his own blood. A glance at Dwalin sidetracked his plans for interrogation, however. "What else is wrong?" His friend had a look about him, like he was embarrassed.

"You mean other than you heavin' up your own guts?"

"You said Oin treated me."

"Well, mostly. You'll probably be tender for a bit accordin' to Nori since he made the stuff." Dwalin looked down at his hands and started to play with his knuckle dusters. "I should've had your back though. Never should have left you there even for a minute."

Of course Nori had something to do with the poison. "The elves outnumbered us. They dragged us away when we were weakened and intentionally separated us. I don't blame you, Dwalin."

The dwarf grunted, clearly not convinced. "I just want to know why they didn't come after us. It's been hours, they've gotta know you're gone by now. I know the hobbit was in thick with the doc, but still..."

"We'll question him when he sees fit to grace us with his presence again."

"Oh see, now you're mad and I just know you're goin' t' take it out on the poor bugger."

"He _poisoned_ me."

The warrior mulled that over for a second, picking and dropping more grass. "Yeah, I guess he did."

"You're not angry anymore?"

"I am, but there's not much to do about it, eh? Gloin already tried to dump in the river and he came right out again and shouted a fair bit before goin' off over with that lot." Even as they watched the elf remounted again and the three of them turned their horses and disappeared back into Mirkwood.

At least the elves were gone – that was something. "We're moving." Thorin breathed. "We need to get away from the woods and then we'll question the hobbit."

"You sure you aren't going to start hackin' up blood again if you try t' get up? I can just bring him o'er here instead." Dwalin stood with a groan and pressed both hands to his back. "I'm gettin' too old for this."

"Help me up. I need to be able to walk to get to the mountain."

"Nah, we'll just carry you all the way, what with you bein' royalty and all. Ori can find some rose petals t' throw about."

"Dwalin."

"Okay okay, give me your arm."

Together they managed to get Thorin to his feet. His heavy coat fell off his legs and into the grass. A couple of the company members looked over and seemed cheered to see Thorin upright again; Balin beamed and Ori waved from where he was leaning on Dori. Thorin only groaned and had to swallow thickly to avoid living up to his threat of throwing up on his friend. "We need to move. I want everyone gathered and supplies accounted for before we decide what to do."

“And what about him?”

Thorin wiped his mouth and watched as Bilbo picked his way through the grass and back to Bofur’s side. The miner slung an arm around the hobbit’s soggy shoulders and gave him a squeeze before winding Bilbo’s entire head up in his multicolored scarf. Thorin assured himself that it was simply the residual poison making him feel sick, nothing else. The burn in his guts suddenly felt much more personal though.    

"I will deal with him - I want to know what he bargained with to free us. Then we’ll decide on our next move. If we have the means we're moving straight on to the mountain. If not we'll need to go into Lake-Town to resupply."

"They'll probably have a boat or two that we can use o’er there. That'll be the fastest way t’ get where we’re goin’."

Given his state Thorin would concede to having a _slight_ lack of judgment. There was no telling how long it would be until he could walk without support either. "Fine, we’ll go pay a call on the humans. I'll need your voice to get the others moving."

Dwalin nodded. "We’ll get a list started of what we have left. I'd not be surprised if those bastards didn't return quite everything. I doubt many tears would’ve been shed if we ended up a meal for spiders before we made it out again."

"There aren’t spiders here." Thorin started shifting his weight, testing to see if he could support himself and remove the burden from Dwalin. "And we’ll be gone before anything else decides to come looking."

"A'right, best get started. Sit down before you fall down, idiot. I'll send the burglar o'er and get everyone else movin'."

"I'm already standing, I might as well walk."

Dwalin's eyebrows shot up and he let go of Thorin's arm. "Go on then, walk."

Thorin kept his feet under himself for a few seconds before he sunk back down to the grass. It was as dignified as he could manage and at least he didn't fall over, but the pain it caused almost wasn't worth it.

"Told you," Dwalin said smugly.

"Just get going."

__________________________________

“ – but I really think that was taking things a bit far!”

Bofur nodded in sympathy and pulled his pipe out of one of the inside pockets of his coat. “They may’ve overreacted a bit, but you can hardly blame ‘em.”

“I can and I will!” Bilbo replied hotly, sinking a bit lower and using the end of Bofur’s scarf to try to dry off his hair a little. “I’ve gotten everyone out mostly whole and all I get in return is shaken, shouted at, and dumped in a freezing cold river! Thank you for helping me out, by the way,” he added as an afterthought. Somehow he’d been under the delusion that he would be able to make it all the way to Lake-Town without ending up soaked to the bone. What a happy thought that had been.

“T’was wrong of the lads t’ do that an’ most of us know it. They’re just a bit overprotective. We’ve only got one king, you know, and you’ve made him go and spit up most of his insides.” A curl of smoke went up from the bowl of Bofur’s pipe as he lit it with a match and then passed it to Bilbo. The hobbit accepted it gratefully, needing the calming smoke it in the worst sort of way.

“I couldn’t think of anything else,” he said miserably. “I know it was a terrible idea, but Nori said that needle wouldn’t kill him so I figured it was worth a shot. Thranduil wasn’t going to let him go willingly.”

“Aye, I’m surprised he was goin’ t’ let any of us go. You’ve got a silver tongue when you put your mind to it if you managed to talk him into that.”

“Hopefully I can use it again to keep Dwalin from throttling me in my – “

“None of that, Halfling,” a rumbling voice said from behind him and Bilbo instantly swallowed a mouthful of pipe smoke and started to gag.

Bofur’s mitten-clad hand pounded him on the back and he dimly heard his friend telling Dwalin to quit sneaking up on people and to ‘give the poor blighter a break’.  

“I’ll give him a break when he deserves one. Come on, his majesty wants words. Not you,” he added when Bofur began to scramble up.

“It’s fine.” Bilbo tried to sound reassuring when Bofur looked like he wanted to argue. “He’s too far away from the river to throw me in. I’ll just be a minute.” It was too bad he didn’t actually feel as confident as he acted. The last thing he wanted right now was to fight with Thorin. In fact he would have been perfectly happy to find a hole in the ground and hide in it until he was certain the king wouldn’t try to run him through with Orcrist. “Might I hold onto this for a minute?” He raised the pipe.

“Aye, it’s all yours.” Bofur slowly sat back down, looking like a dog who had been given a swat and wasn’t sure what to do about it.  

“Thanks, I’ll be right back after I give ‘his majesty’ a piece of my mind. Don’t touch me,” he snapped when Dwalin started to take his elbow. “I’m not one of you, nor am I a child. I can find my own way.” Clamping the stem of Bofur’s pipe firmly between his teeth Bilbo set off across the grass with the guardsman on his heels. When he saw Thorin turn his head and spit a mouthful of blood out on the grass he did his best not to turn right around again and run back to Bofur’s comforting side.

The king’s frown was set deeply and judging by the way he refused to look up showed exactly how much he loathed not being able to stand on his own.

 _At least he can’t loom over me,_ Bilbo thought, winding one of his hands into Bofur’s ugly scarf. Not that Thorin was any less intimidating while he was sitting.

"Sit down, Bilbo. Dwalin, make sure the others are going to be ready when I'm finished."

Bilbo tried his best not to look at the red that stained Thorin’s shirtfront and sleeves and the flecks of it on his lips. He’d done his best to make sure that the king had been comfortable when he’d been loaded onto the back of Haldir’s horse, but there had only been so much he’d been able to do. His worst fear, what had kept him constantly checking to make sure that Thorin still breathed, was that the dwarf would choke to death on his own blood while they rode. He looked down at the toes of his black boots as he sat, waiting. He would defend what he had done, but that didn’t mean he’d done the right thing.

It took a moment of silent assurances between the three before Dwalin seemed convinced that his king wasn't going to beat the hobbit and left to organize the rest of the company. Only once he was out of earshot did Thorin start his questioning. "I can't remember you returning to my cell, but it has already been confirmed that you poisoned me. The company was allowed to leave and given no explanation why. Tell me what you gave those elves and _why_ you felt it was necessary to almost kill me without telling me first."

“Technically I don’t have to tell you anything since I’m not one of your subjects,” Bilbo pointed out, pulling the pipe out of his mouth for a moment so that he could speak properly. Both of them were treading on very thin ice – Thorin’s temper and Bilbo’s secrets never seemed to mesh well.  

"Then how am I supposed to know I can trust you? We both know Thranduil planned to keep me locked away as long as he could and now I find myself unshackled. Because of you."

He’d known this was coming, but that didn’t stop the spear of pain that struck Bilbo right through his chest. Secrets hurt, and sometimes they hurt the keeper most of all. He hoped what he was feeling didn’t show on his face and did his best to hide it by taking another puff on his borrowed pipe.

“Have I not done enough up to now to have earned that trust?”

"I don't trust the company you chose to work with. You’ve told nothing to your companions, to those you expect to trust you. We've kept no secrets from you."

Bilbo couldn’t stop his wince. “No, you’ve all been very hospitable,” he admitted. “Truth be told, you feel more like my family now than my actual blood relations.”

"Then tell me." Thorin urged.

“I – I knew something. Something Thranduil didn’t. He let us go because I blackmailed him and that’s all there is to it. I’m not proud of it, but I did what I felt I had to so that we could be free. I would never betray you.” Thranduil knew of Thorin’s quest, this was true, but Bilbo didn’t think that knowledge would have changed anything. The elf king was old and wise and had probably guessed why they were passing through the moment they’d fallen into his hands.

Bilbo knew he was being too vague and Thorin's temper wouldn't allow for that. "You knew something? And you won’t tell me what that thing is? You continue to hide things from me!" The exiled king accused. "It can’t be unimportant if you won’t even tell those you claim as friends. This is your last chance burglar."

“My last chance?” Bilbo repeated. “Until what? Until you send me away? Send me home? Or will you just dump me in the river like Gloin did and hope that this time someone doesn’t drag me out?”

The dwarf pressed a hand to his chest and looked away. "We're going to Lake-Town." His voice was strained. "Make sure you're ready to travel."

The hobbit sat, frozen in place with the pipe held loosely in his hand. “That’s it? Is that really all?”   

"Until you're honest with me, yes. Just get your story straight before - before we move on. Your stubborn streak does not mean the rest of the company should have to sit out here when we could be getting proper food and beds in Lake-Town."

Lost for words for the first time in a long while, Bilbo could only nod. Honesty was the one thing he couldn’t give to Thorin, not the kind he wanted. The king could never understand why he did what he did, what drove him. That Bilbo would give up _everything_ to keep him alive and happy. The hobbit climbed to his feet and scuffed his boots in a patch of dirt for a second, but no sudden inspiration or witty reply came to him. He took in Thorin’s pale, stormy face and knew he had lost this battle and maybe Thorin’s trust along with it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I wish I’d been able to come up with a better plan. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Thorin didn’t look at him. "Get out of my sight, burglar."

Bilbo left. It was either that or crumble. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, a bit earlier than Sunday! Now I can start on the next one. Don't worry, you'll get the whole story about how Bilbo got Thorin out in a little while once they've both had a chance to simmer down a bit.


	43. The Hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

“Your Majesty?”

No one moved. Few dared to breathe. There were no whispers in the court of the elven king.

Long, pale fingertips pressed lightly against Thranduil’s forehead. He had bowed his head ever so slightly and his eyes were shut. It was almost a pose of supplication – he prayed for patience and composure, two things he had always prided himself on. Right now they were being sorely tested and to lose his temper in front of his subjects was unreasonable. His wrath was saved for very special occasions, usually saved for when he was alone and there was no one nearby to hear him, and as of yet he had not decided if this was one of them.

“Explain,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, but everyone in the room heard him all the same. They hung on his words for they decided the fate of the kingdom.

Two guards who routinely patrolled the long halls stood in front of the dais. Haedirn stood in front. More than once Thranduil had spoken to her as she stood watch at the gate to the outside or at the doors to the court or armory. She was competent and brave, her eye known as one of the sharpest in the forest. Now she stood before him, her trembling only noticeable in her hands and in the minute catch of her breath. Behind her was Methanar, his arms locked at his sides, as motionless as if he had been injected with spider venom. There was a sharp bitterness in his eyes that showed just how unhappy he was at having failed. Thranduil was a benevolent king, but he was still a king. Those who failed him were punished for it and rarely were there repeat offenders.  

“My king,” Haedirn said, “Methanar and I were commanded to stand watch outside of the dwarf’s cell while the rest of our…guests were making ready to depart. It was assumed they would be unhappy to leave one of their own behind and might try to stage an escape.”

“And they were successful,” Thranduil drawled. Legolas made a small noise where he was standing next to his father’s throne but was wise enough not to open his mouth and possibly make things worse for the young guardswoman.

“Yes,” Haedirn murmured, her head bowed as she dropped to one knee.

Methanar did the same, long hair obscuring his face. “The fault is ours for our lax attention and we freely give our lives in exchange for the ones that escaped on our watch, if it should please you.”

“That will hardly be necessary,” Tauriel said curtly from where she stood before the throne, two long knives sheathed at her belt and her face as hard as carved marble. “Rise and complete your report.”

“Yes Captain. It was an hour after dawn when I noticed the change in the prisoner. He began to rave about fire and dragons and we feared that he would injure himself in some way because he was not currently chained. He did not respond to our prompts to calm himself and we originally thought his agitation was the result of stress. Haedirn noticed after a moment that he had begun to bleed copiously from the mouth, too much for it to be the result of a bitten tongue.”

Lanthiron stepped forward from where he had been standing back against the wall. “As they should have, they brought him to me immediately for treatment. I deduced that a toxin had been introduced to the dwarf’s system, via a needle to the upper arm through the sleeve of his tunic. Based on the placement he could not have administered it himself.”

“So our guest was poisoned,” Thranduil murmured, looking far from put off by this. “It seems lucky that his guards were soft-hearted enough to bring him to the healer.”

Tauriel looked pained at that. “My king, that fault lies squarely on my shoulders. I spoke with the Twice-Born and it was he that convinced me to post Haedirn and Methanar at the dwarf’s cell. Both are competent, but the Halfling made a compelling argument to assign soldiers who had no personal grudges against the dwarves as his temporary cell wardens. He said that Thorin Oakenshield had suffered enough on their journey and didn’t want to leave him knowing that he was in cruel or unconcerned hands.”

“You have a soft heart, Captain. But I admit that it was a clever request. Another might have left him in his cell to suffer rather than bringing him to the infirmary for treatment. What happened once he was left in your care?” The king’s attention turned back to Lanithron, one of the few who seemed unaffected by his wrath. The healer was an old elf, nearly as old and Thranduil himself, and they had spent too much time in each other’s company for this upheaval to damage their calm.

“I discovered that the toxin was a nonfatal one and was in the process of brewing a potion that would decrease its effects when I was called away on an urgent matter.”

“The scouting company that was pursuing the orc known as Azog and his warg riders returned, two of them gravely injured,” Tauriel supplied. “One of them had taken an arrow to his shoulder and the other had been scored by a toxic blade.”

“Indeed. I rushed to treat them and now both are making a recovery.”

“I assume that your other patient went missing while you were away.” Thranduil began to rub tiny circles around one of his temples to lessen the pressure that was building there. This day was turning out absolutely _splendid._

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Haedirn again. “Methanar and I stood watch outside of the infirmary – “

“I don’t like soldiers in my workspace unless they’re being treated, as you know. They disturb my patients.” Lanthiron cast a sideways look towards where Tauriel and her soldiers stood at attention, a hint of aggravation in his gaze.    

“As you have told me more than once, healer. Continue.”

“We were standing watch to ensure that the prisoner did not try to escape when the Marchwardens Rumil and Orophin approached, stating that they had been sent by their brother Haldir to collect medical supplies for their journey back to Lorien. They carried saddlebags with them but we thought nothing of it and let them enter. Since the prisoner was rendered immobile by the toxin we saw no harm in it.”

“They smuggled him out in the saddlebag,” Methanar said dourly, looking down at the toes of his boots. “We didn’t suspect anything until Lord Lanthiron came back and requested that we inform him as to the location of the prisoner.”  

“Galadriel and Celeborn may see it as an act of aggression if we pursue the Marchwardens,” Legolas murmured quietly.

There would be no satisfaction found in punishing the three Silvan elves. The last thing he wanted was to gain the animosity of his own kind, especially at a time like this. If Thorin Oakenshield and his company had made it this far, they no doubt had the blessings of both Elrond and Galadriel. He had already tempted fate by holding them for as long as he had and bringing them back again to further hinder their quest to retake the mountain would put a definite strain on his relationship with those west of the Misty Mountains.

As for the Twice-Born, what was to stop him from turning against Thranduil completely? As the only one who could conceivably guess what was going to come to pass, Bilbo Baggins held a great deal of power whether he knew it or not. Just as he had threatened, Smaug could come swooping down on them any day and burn everything and all of them to ash. A dragon was not a force to be trifled with and that seemed to be exactly what the Halfling intended to do. Smaug could conceivably awaken at any point, and if Bilbo was imprisoned in Thranduil’s dungeons, who could say that he hadn’t been on his way to prevent such a thing? The chances were too many and the consequences were too great for any action to be a wise one now.

“Your Majesty?” Tauriel stepped forward, her eyes serious and weapons at the ready. If he had commanded it she would have hunted down the company and slaughtered the lot of them without hesitation. It was the mark of a good captain, both her viciousness and her loyalty. With this new development though, Thranduil looked at her and found himself beginning to wonder if there was something more than bloodlust running through her veins. ”What are your orders?”  

“Nothing. We do nothing. I will not lose my kingdom to chance and the whim of a Halfling.” His hands dropped to the arms of his throne and he clutched it tightly enough to make his knuckles go white. “Methanar. Haedirn.”

The two shamed guards snapped to attention.

“You’ll have your chance to prove your competency. Travel to Lake-Town, but I expect you to be very discreet. Watch over the dwarves and the Twice-Born and report back to me should you discover anything of interest.” Now the whispers started. “We will be ready to act one way or the other. The Woodland Realm will not be taken while sleeping like an aging beast. Captain, I expect your troops to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Prepare as if for war.”

“My king!”

Thranduil rose from his throne, leaving his blood-red cape draped over the colossal antlers that made up its frame. “As for the rest of you, make yourselves ready to move on Erebor. We may have some new neighbors to call upon soon enough.”

The court erupted as he swept down from the dais, his son at his heels.

“ _Ada_?”

“Yes, Legolas?” The two of them left the main chamber behind them, though the voices of the elves behind them were loud enough to carry for quite a distance.

“Do you know why Tauriel has been smirking at me all day? It has becoming quite unnerving.”

“I’m sure that it is nothing of any importance.”

__________________________________

Far to the north at the edge of Mirkwood three figures burst from the shadows of the trees, traveling faster than most horses could ever dream of. The tongues of their mounts lolled between bloodstained fangs and their hot breath blossomed thickly in the cool evening air. The trees had grown too close together to make for easy travel or combat, so the wide expanse of the rocky fields they charged into was more than welcomed.

Nothing else came from the forest to pursue them. Either the Mirkwood elves had lost the trail of their quarry or had turned back home, considering themselves well rid of the intruders.

Azog spat onto the ground, steering his mangy warg up onto a boulder so that he could get a better look around. The beast was a sad one, smaller and skinnier than his _Throquuk,_ with jutting hip bones and tattered ears _._ His beloved white warg, the only companion he had ever tolerated, lay dead far behind him, a needle driven deep into her brain by the most unlikely attacker that he could imagine.

“ _The Halfling will suffer before I kill him,”_ he growled in Black Speech, staring back towards the forest. Him and every dwarf who dared to travel with the line of Durin. Thorin had taken his arm. Now this upstart bit of meat had taken his mount. It would not be tolerated.

“Master?” There were only two orcs left of those he had brought with him – the rest had either been lost to the forest or slaughtered by the elves who dwelled therein. He felt no sorrow for their loss; they had been a scouting party, nothing more. The two that were left would serve a purpose and then he would think on them no more.

“ _I will go north_.” Azog pointed behind him and gestured towards the mountains with his iron claw. “ _To Gundabad to gather my troops and prepare for war. You both…”_ He turned to look behind him. “ _Tell the goblin king that I am calling in his debt_.”

Beyond the fields and the trees there lay a single mountain. Azog didn’t care whether or not there was a dragon sleeping under it, in his eyes there was only one target. The orc and goblin armies would go to Erebor and with his remaining hand he would destroy the last of the line of Durin and the Halfling that had taken his _Throquuk_ from him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this week, but it was about time to catch up with everything else that's going on in Middle Earth. Seems like everyone has a hard-on for heading to Erebor, eh? Back to the company next week to see how Bilbo is coping with the locals of Lake-Town.


	44. Learn to be Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Emotional Pain, Arguing

It had begun to drizzle early that morning, though no one was really surprised. The only thing anyone said about it was that they were surprised it hadn’t turned to snow or sleet yet. Whatever it was, it was thoroughly miserable and Bilbo found himself wishing with every fiber of his being that it would just blow over and be done with as he scrambled out of the second story window of the house they had been given. A wickedly cold breeze blew up the legs of his trousers as he dangled by his fingertips, trying to stretch down far enough for the toes of his boots to reach the drain spout below him, but it was just an inch or two too far. So there he dangled with his bits completely frozen, wishing he had proper winter clothes and praying that no one looked out of their window and spotted him. That would have been the icing on the cake that this day was turning out to be.

A quick breath and he let go of the sill, pressing his hands flat to the wall to keep himself upright as he landed with a ‘thunk’ on the wooden spout. For a moment he tottered there, eyes wide, not daring to budge, until he realized that the whole thing was _not_ going to crumble underneath him like he’d originally thought. After that it was just a matter of shimmying down the pipe to solid ground. Well, mostly solid. The wooden boards under his boots turned out to be more than a little slick and he yelped and clung to the rain barrel next to him to keep from toppling right over onto his rear.

“Lake-Town. Ha! It should have been dubbed ‘Misery-Town on Stilts’,” he mumbled as he righted himself and picked his way across the wet, icy walkway that was crusted with things he didn’t want to think about too hard.

Lake-Town wasn’t overwhelmingly large like the Woodland Realm had been – it was all laid out around a small central harbor and a series of canals that people climbed in and out of using slippery ropes and ladders. Some of the more wealthy folk, who were few and far in between, had actual steps down to their boats. The town itself sat about twelve feet above the water lines and the thick wooden posts that held the whole place up were covered in barnacles and shiny, sharp-looking mussels. There was only one bridge to the land with a little guard house to oversee it. At least they hadn’t been charged a fare to use the bridge as it seemed most other travelers were – the guards had been too busy gawking at them to demand that they turn out their coin purses. The house they’d been put up in had been nice enough.

Except it only had one door.

Using that door to slip out would have been much easier than the window but that wasn’t an option and hadn’t been in the last three days. His only real goal in coming here at all was to speak to Bard, the human who had shot Smaug right out of the sky. Having a descendant of Girion, the last Lord of Dale, on his side could prove more than a little bit useful, especially if it meant he could keep the humans from knocking down Erebor’s gates when the company took back the mountain. He’d seen what happened when Thorin had been threatened in his own home and wasn’t exactly eager to repeat the experience.

That being said, it had been fiendishly hard to find a moment to slip away to contact the bowman. It seemed like every waking moment was spent either being interrogated by Ori as he scribbled notes with a lovely gull quill that he’d found in Lake-Town’s market or under close watch by the other members of the company. Several of them, Fili and Kili included, hadn’t quite forgiven him for his unorthodox escape method and even though he hadn’t done a single suspicious thing since they’d become guests of the Master of Lake-Town, it seemed they weren’t going to give him the chance to. Thorin hadn’t spoken a word to him or even given him a second glance. Suddenly Bilbo knew how a good-natured dog who had suddenly bitten its master’s hand felt. Things would never be quite the same between himself and the company again and he privately mourned the loss of that intimacy.

The only option left to him had been the window in the little room he’d been given. Going out the door would have assured him an escort and ditching the dwarves had turned out to be nearly impossible. The magic ring stayed sealed in his vest pocket, unused. This wasn’t the time to use dark magic when a bit of upper body strength and steady feet would do the trick. Bilbo smiled bitterly to himself as he made his way around a corner and skirted the edge of what smelled like a fishery. What sort of burglar was one who could only sneak about when he was invisible?

At least there hadn’t been many dwarves left in the house to possibly catch him on his way out. Thorin and some of the more important dwarves had been summoned to dine at the Master’s grand home, to discuss their journey and future plans. Thorin would probably grunt through the whole meal and remain as close-mouthed as ever. Humans weren’t as bad as elves, but the Master of Lake-Town made Bilbo feel as disgusting as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of oily, wriggling eels.

The hobbit sniffed despondently and popped up his coat collar to try to keep some of the wet off his neck. If Thorin wanted to stay cold and distant for the rest of their journey that was his decision. He hadn’t been resurrected to make friends or fall in love. Right now his only purpose was to ensure the safety and survival of the company and their royal line and if he trod on a few toes to do that? So be it.

“Run home to your ma, lad. It’s dangerous out here, ‘specially if the guards catch you out wanderin’.”

Bilbo glanced up at the fisherman, a man with more gray in his beard than black, and the human did a double-take when he saw an adult’s face in what he had taken for a child’s body.

“I thank you for your concern,” Bilbo said coolly, staying well out of reach in case the fellow decided to make a grab at him. “But I think that I’m exactly where I need to be. I seek Bard the Bowman. Do you know where I might find him?”

“You a dwarf?” The man asked, his gray brows drawn together in confusion.

“Do you see a beard?”

The man shook his head.

“So I must not be a dwarf. The Bowman, if you please?”

The fisherman stooped and picked up a basket that was half-filled with crawly little things that reminded Bilbo of grey-red bugs with little tails and long whiskers. They flipped about and snapped their tiny claws together and made tiny snipping noises that reminded Bilbo of butter popping in a hot pan, which was where he was imagining that lot was headed.

“Haven’t seen ‘im in a day or two. Last I heard he’d gone land-side to hunt a bit. Might be wrong though. Oi, Reson! You seen Bard?”

“Nah, but his boat’s gone,” replied a man across the canal. He had a basket of black mussels slung over his shoulders and Bilbo could smell him even across the water.

“My missus say’s he due back today though,” said a passerby who had stopped to gawk at Bilbo. “Was talkin’ to ‘is youngest and she said t’was a quick trip. Goin’ after deer or sommat.”

“Anythin’ but more fish,” agreed the fisherman who had told Bilbo to go home. Bilbo didn’t see anything wrong with fish but he suspected that these men and the rest of Lake-Town got more than their fair share of it what with living in the middle of the water. Red meat would probably fetch a fine price at the market if Bard planned on selling it. Most of what the company had been eating had been fish and he had little doubt that a bit of venison would be more than welcome at the table.

“Could one of you gentlemen possibly point me towards where he docks his boat? Maybe I’ll be able to catch him when he gets back.”

“Heh, gentlemen. Wait ‘til I tell the missus that. She’ll laugh so hard she’ll pop that babe right out.”

“Don’t pay no mind t’ that idiot, little master. Bard usually docks at the north side’a town. Longest dock, right out at th’ end. Can’t miss it, jus’ go through there and ‘round th’ corner.” The mussel man pointed back behind them and then picked up another bag of the briny water creatures.

Bilbo thanked the men and went hastily on his way before he had to listen to any more of their off-color jokes. He got enough of those from the dwarves and he was ready for slightly more civilized company. Sadly, other than Smaug, he was pretty sure there weren’t any real gentlemen from here to Rivendell. Maybe someday he’d be able to retire there again to discuss philosophy and language with Elrond. Hobbits were good to talk about food and gardening with, dwarves were always good for a laugh or a history discussion, and men could prattle on about just about anything. Elves on the other hand were perfect for a quiet talk over wine, which was most definitely what Bilbo wanted as he made his hazardous way across the wet wood, dashing from dry spot to dry spot so he didn’t end up soaked to the bone before he made it back to the house.

Twice more he was told to go home by the men he passed and a woman with a child on each hip asked him if he was lost. By the time he made it to the longest dock on the north side of town he was wet, shivering, and thoroughly done with just about everyone. If it had been at all possible he would have wished himself back in bed with a hot cup of tea on the nightstand with no one to bother him for at least a fortnight.

Instead he settled himself on the edge of a capped rain barrel and did up the top button of his coat. For the first time he was grateful for the black boots the Mirkwood elves had given him – for all that they were a little bit cramped they were still warm and kept the water out. Back in the Shire most folk had special slippers made of leather and sheep wool they saved especially for winter, but his tall boots that went all the way to his knees were about as far removed from those as a thoroughbred horse was from a farm pony. Finally people left him alone. The rain began to pick up but he stayed mostly dry thanks to a roof overhang. The rest of Lake-Town sought the shelter of their homes. Bilbo kept his eyes on the water.

Out on the lake a flock of pale water birds drifted lazily across the rippling surface, unmoved by the rain that dripped off their feathers. They were born, they lived, and they died on the Long Lake, caring not one whit for dragons or gold or even time. Through the rain and the fog the hung over the water Bilbo could pretend that their wings were instead sails far out on the horizon.

White sails.

It seemed like so long ago now. Months had passed since he had first woken up on his front step, confused and feeling like the weight of all of Middle Earth had suddenly been dropped on his shoulders. That weight had only grown and now it bent his spine forward and left purple shadows under his eyes where there had previously been none. In his last life it had taken him until he was a hundred and twenty to feel as old as he did now. He and Ham had once liked to joke that youth was wasted on the young. It was clear that youth was simply a state of mind and he couldn’t figure out how to get it back. His body was young, his eyes were keen and his hands were steady.

His spirit was what was tired. 

_How am I supposed to know I can trust you?_

_Have I not done enough up to now to have earned that trust?_

No. His secrets were the weight that curved his back, the weight of years and knowledge and the horror he had seen and had to prevent.

One of the birds alighted on the dock and ruffled its feathers, sending out crystalline drops of rain.

“If only I was as carefree as you,” Bilbo murmured, watching it. He wouldn’t have given up being here to mend history for anything, but at times like this, when he was cold and alone, he couldn’t help but think about how much easier it would have been to pass on peacefully. Dwarves had their hallowed halls to go to when they died, to feast and craft until the end of time. Hobbits, on the other hand, rarely spoke about what came after. You lived, you died. If anyone was the deity of the hobbits it was probably Yavanna, mother of the growing things, and so most figured that they simply returned to the earth and air when they passed on. Bilbo had quietly hoped that somehow he would see his fallen friends and companions when he finally followed, but that hadn’t happened.

Instead he was stuck here while they looked at him with censure and suspicion. He would have given anything to keep them safe, his own life if he had to. They would never know that though, and hopefully when everything came to an end he’d simply be able to slink home and learn to live alone.

He would have to wait a little while longer to rest.

“Do you sail?”

Bilbo was too sunk in his own melancholy to even manage a proper start. A man stood next to him. He had a lean face, lined with creases created by hard living and lean years. His hair was long and fell about his face, giving it a ghostly cast in the dim light. At his feet lay the carcass of a young stag with a small hole piercing its throat as if from the shaft of an arrow. Bard the Bowman had docked while Bilbo’s attention was fixed on the gulls.  

“No, I’m afraid not. Or at least not yet.” Bilbo offered his hand to the man. “Bilbo Baggins, hobbit and smallest member of the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bard took the offered hand and gave it a short shake. His was cold and wet from working the oars of his little boat, but there was a firmness to it that managed to be reassuring. “Bard. Did you want a word with me, Mister Baggins? I can’t think of any other reason to be out here when you’ve got a fine house to be waiting out the weather in.”

“A fine house and poor company, I’m afraid. The cold is infinitely preferable.”

“I thought a king would be more sensitive to the needs of his people,” Bard commented shrewdly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall of the building behind them.

“I’m not one of his people, just a specialist of sorts brought along to make a lucky number of travelers. That’s not why I’m out here though.” The gulls shrieked out on the docks, but Bilbo didn’t look at them. He had to be clever again and that took all of his concentration and attention. There could be no space left for despondency to creep in. Bard wouldn’t be bluffed like Thranduil – he was too rooted in reality and far more inclined to take action than the more passive elven king. Bard would require more…material promises.

“So why are you here? If you’re looking to buy venison I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn. My children need feeding more than the Master’s guests.”

Children? That might make things slightly more difficult. If Bard had a family to look after, any chance that Smaug would wake and descend on Lake-Town would be looked at poorly.

 _Thranduil had his kingdom and Bard has his_ , Bilbo reminded himself. They were both powerful in their own right even if they were vastly different in looks and temperament.

“You know, I’ve done a fair bit of reading.” He said, looking off towards the water again. “I especially like history books, though they’re hard to come by where I live. Most folk in the Shire either don’t read at all or prefer books about gardening.”

“You won’t find many here either. Those who have the ability or time to spend reading usually choose not to, while the rest of us have to spend our waking hours trying to support our families.”

“I’ve noticed this. Not that I mean to insult your town – “ He added.

“It’s not mine. Far from it. We of Lake-Town live meager lives.” Bard looked up at the roof hanging over their heads. Moss grew along the edges and more than one of the planks was almost completely rotten through. “Every penny we earn is taxed and there is naught we can do about except pull our belts a bit tighter and work harder.”

“Far from the Dale I read about in my books. Your ancestor was Lord there, wasn’t he?” Bilbo rubbed the toes of his boots together.

“Until he was killed by the dragon that most folk consider legend now. The best the people of Dale could manage after the scouring was this miserable heap of wood and they would have died the first winter without the aid given by the elves nearby. We trade with them and it keeps our homes from falling down. We are no Dale, Mister Baggins.”

“But you could be. Not here of course, this place is a blight. What if you could rebuild Dale?” Give a bit of bait to check for interest. His full hand remained hidden close to his chest, but he had a hand of good cards. Hopefully Bard wouldn’t decide to cut out before he’d seen them all.

The ragged man laughed bitterly. “You forget about what slumbers under the mountain. Some may have forgotten or pretend to have, but I haven’t. And what would I rebuild with? Fish? Rotten wood? Even the gold the Master sits so comfortably on wouldn’t be enough to scrub away the damage and I doubt your King is going to be sending us boats filled with treasure, even if the songs say so.”

“No. Thorin is suspicious and his kingdom is probably worse off than Dale. At least that doesn’t have a dragon laying on it. I don’t think sending off boats of hard-won gold will be the first thing on his mind.” 

“So what exactly is the point in me standing here in the cold with my stag getting wet? For you to talk about the past and tell me not to get my hopes for any sort of reward or alliance with the dwarves?”

He was smart, Bilbo would give him that. “No. As I said, Thorin won’t be sending boats of treasure, but I have a fourteenth share of every coin in Erebor should we reclaim it, and I have little use for it. I could easily be persuaded to part with half of it.”

Bard went still. “That’s a generous share. You would be a fool not to partake in it.”

“What use do I have for gold and gems? I’m a hobbit. I can’t eat it and it won’t sprout if I plant it. There aren’t enough horses from here to the Misty Mountains for me to get it all back home, so it seems to me I’d be much better off investing it in a cause that will help everyone involved.”

“To say…”

“Rebuilding Dale.”

Bard’s gloved hand came up and he rubbed his mouth. “Why talk to me about this? The Master is the one in charge here, not I.”

Oh yes, he was very much interested in what Bilbo had to offer, though still cautious.

“The Master doesn’t command the people’s loyalty here – you do. If that isn’t enough for you, perhaps I have a fondness for bloodlines. Dale was prosperous under your ancestor’s leadership, maybe it will bloom again under yours. You aren’t a stupid man; you have to see what I’m offering you.”

“I also see what lies between you and that fourteenth share!” Bard snapped. “You may gain a king’s ransom if you succeed in taking Erebor, but what if you fail? What if Smaug still sleeps underneath that mountain? Thorin Oakenshield will wake the dragon and it will rein fire and death down on Lake-Town. I value the lives of my children and my people more than any amount of gold.”

“I wouldn’t have offered it if you didn’t.” The rain began to lessen again, though the clouds and fog remained as heavy as ever. Bilbo knew that on a clear day he’d be able to see Erebor across the water, but for now it remained hidden from sight. “As for the dragon, I have a bit of experience with them. If Smaug is still alive I’ll do my best to keep his wrath turned away from Lake-Town.”

“Experience with dragons?” Bard repeated skeptically.

“I told you I was a specialist.” A specialist thief, not dragon-killer, but Bard didn’t need to know that part.

Bard thought on that for a while, rubbing his beard and playing with a bowstring that was coiled in the pocket of his coat. “You kill the dragon, or he’s already dead. Thorin Oakenshield and his dwarves reclaim Erebor. What is it that you want from me in exchange for this half of a fourteenth share?”

Bilbo felt a surge of elation that made him practically giddy. Bard wasn’t won over yet, but that the bowman was considering the possibility that he was offering was exactly the sort of victory he so sorely needed. Where Bard went the people of Lake-Town would follow and to have them backing Thorin would be a proper alliance.

“Your aid. From what I hear of things, Erebor is in shambles and I doubt it’s going to be repaired overnight. Nor will Dale. All I ask is that Lake-Town doesn’t press Thorin for either aid or gold for one year. I’ll draw up a treaty that half of my share is delivered into your hands and that it will be used to aid the people, encourage trade between the elves, your city, and Erebor, and to rebuild Dale with you as its new Lord.”

“Those are far simpler terms than I expected, Mister Baggins. How do I know if the king of Erebor will agree to a contract signed by his specialist?”  

“Thorin isn’t a fool. Trade and help will always be welcome, even if he doesn’t always trust those he works with.” Even his own burglar. Bilbo had to shut his eyes for a moment and breathed in the cold air through his nose before letting it out through his mouth. “The other thing I want might be slightly more dangerous.”

Bard said nothing.

“The Durins have powerful enemies. Orcs. Goblins. We’ve encountered Azog the Defiler once on our journey already – I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

“Who hasn’t?” Bard replied shortly. “I suppose his death was sung of too soon.”

“It was. He intends to kill all of the Durins and I don’t plan on allowing it. In return for the promised share, I ask for the help of you and the men of Lake-Town if we come under siege. I’m not asking for you to throw your lives away,” he added hastily when he saw Bard’s expression darken. “But a few archers couldn’t hurt too much. Just…consider it. Few things worth fighting for were gained without bloodshed, though I wish they were.”

Together they idled there, watching the lake and the gulls as they fought over scraps of fish. The rain barrel was cold and uncomfortable under Bilbo, but he dared not move yet. The last part had been a gamble – the aid of the men against Azog and his hoards would be valuable, but if Bard decided that the payoff wasn’t worth the possible sacrifice it would all be for naught and then they could really be in trouble. So he stayed still even though his legs had both gone to sleep and his hands felt like twin blocks of ice where they rested on the edge of the barrel. He waited.  

“I’ll think on it,” Bard finally said. “There are those I would speak to before agreeing to or turning down your offer.”

Bilbo tried not to let his relief show. “Thank you. I don’t think we’ll be spending much longer here, so if you could do so with a bit of haste it might be best. I don’t know if any messages will be able to reach us once we get to Erebor.” 

“You’ll have your answer, one way or another. Now excuse me, my children are waiting for me.” Bard leaned down and swung the limp body of the stag up and over his shoulder. It gazed back at Bilbo out of milky white eyes as Bard carried it down the walkway and around the corner, leaving only a couple of drops of blood behind. They were quickly washed away by the drizzle.

“Well,” Bilbo said to his hands as he folded them in his lap to stop them from shaking. “I suppose that went better than I expected.”

It was a while before he was able to climb down from lip of the barrel; his strength had been sapped by his talk with Bard and left him feeling like a kitten that had been dragged out of a stream. There was no one out now save the last of the fisherman hauling in their catch before the sun went down, and none of them gave Bilbo more than a second glance as he crept down the walkway, trying to stay dry. They all had better things to do. If one of them had been paying attention to the hobbit in the faded red coat they might have seen the arm that reached out of the shadowy space between two of the wooden shacks that wrapped around his throat and dragged him in where the light couldn’t find him.

“Take your hands off me, how dare you – Thorin!” The arm around his throat was crushingly strong but released him the moment he was out of sight of the docks. Bilbo pulled back on the punch he’d been about to throw when he recognized the face glowering at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t have my sword or I might have run you right through! What are you doing skulking about in the rain? I thought you were at a dinner with the Master.” It was more words than he’d spoken to the dwarf since their fight on the edge of the lake.

“I might ask you the same thing, burglar. I set my company to keep an eye on you and now I find you out wandering the docks and speaking with men.”

They were back to ‘Burglar’ again. Wonderful.

The poison had long since been flushed from Thorin’s body, but there were still signs that he hadn’t handled it or his incarceration at Thranduil’s hands particularly well. His eyes and cheeks remained stubbornly sunken no matter how much he ate or drank at supper.

“You _set_ them on me?” Bilbo said, his eyes widening in outrage. “Like watchdogs over a common criminal?”

“To them you might as well be,” Thorin growled. “You poisoned me and I am not just the leader of this expedition but their rightful king. Anyone else would have been executed.”

“So what, you spared me because we slept together? Or is it because you still need me to sneak into your horrible mountain and report back?”

Thorin’s silence told him everything he needed to know. His heart sank to somewhere around the vicinity of his stomach and stayed there.

“I see,” he said faintly. “Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you’ve made it obviously clear that I’m not one of you and nothing I do will ever make it so. I’m sure everyone will be relieved to have me off their hands when Smaug gobbles me up like an appetizer. One less traitor to Erebor’s golden crown to worry about.”

“I did not waylay you to discuss your purpose in this company.” Thorin’s voice was as cold as stone and just as unyielding. “I want to know who you charmed into letting you out and why you were speaking to that human. I won’t risk having the details of this journey leaked because one hobbit cannot keep his mouth closed.”

Bilbo decided right then and there that he’d had enough of this abuse. He may have loved Thorin and been willing to do anything for him, but that ‘anything’ did not include being used as a doormat to be trod upon by uncaring feet. “This _one hobbit_ ,” he said coolly, “has had quite enough of being insulted and shouted at for one day. For your information I climbed out the window because Oin and Dori were guarding the front door, apparently on your orders and I wasn’t speaking with the man about anything to do with whatever secret plans you seem to have. Now I’m going to go back in the same way and have a lie down. Good evening.”

When he’d lived in the Shire Bilbo had had a collection of rather ugly white dishes that Lobelia had foisted on him after her wedding party, deeming them ‘ugly enough to traumatize children’. Whenever he’d been upset or angry he would take out one of the plates and hurl it with great relish at his garden wall. Eventually he’d had enough pieces to make a nice little mosaic tabletop out of. Maybe the kitchen would lend him a cracked plate or two to throw and work off a little some of the boiling emotions in his gut.

The moment he turned to go however, he was once again seized and this time his back was pushed hard enough into the wall next to him to make him yelp with pain. Thorin seized his wrists and pinned them over his head and Bilbo felt rough splinters prick at the back of his bare hands.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave, burglar! I wasn’t done with you yet. As of late you’ve become withdrawn and secretive and I don’t like it. You’re to telling what you’re scheming this instant and then we might be able to move on from this.”

Slowly Bilbo raised his eyes to look at where Thorin was holding his hands immobile. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

Thorin’s brows drew together, but he didn’t let go. “That wasn’t what I – “

“I once asked you not to hold me down unless I asked you to and those words are the furthest thing from my mind at the moment. Release me at once or I’ll consider it a breach of my trust.”

“A breach of your trust? What about _my_ trust?” The grip on his wrists vanished and Bilbo rubbed the delicate bones, feeling colder than the weather should have warranted.

“No, Thorin. I’ve apologized for that and made it clear that if I could have done something else I would have. I’m through with being punished for it. The only thing left you have to force on me is hurt pride and suspicion, neither of which I have the energy for right now. Later you can rage at me and shout. Strike me if you want just to show that you’re still in control of your rogue burglar. I’m sure the others would be very impressed.”

Thorin looked stricken. “I would never – “

“Wouldn’t you? You seem very happy to manhandle me in every other way so you must not be far from it. I wouldn’t blame you though. I’m sure you’d have justified it in your head before your fist ever landed. The hobbit deserves this. He’s betrayed me. Talking – _how dare he!_ – with humans after he snuck out for a breath of air. It can’t be tolerated. Isn’t that right?” He took a step forward, still holding onto his wrist, and had the bitter satisfaction of seeing Thorin take a step back.

“No Bilbo, I – “

“Oh, so I’m Bilbo again? What happened to ‘Burglar’? I don’t want to hear my name on your tongue right now, Thorin Oakenshield. I’m not feeling generous enough to share it or anything else with you. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for you, and you probably never will. I gave up my home, my family, my _life_ for you! I’ve had knives at my throat and fire at my back and warg teeth in my flesh all because I chose to come on this suicidal adventure for _you_! And you don’t understand that!” The rain poured down the crack between the two houses that sheltered them, wetting his hair and the toes of his boots. “I don’t expect you to. Or even to try. Everyone knows that you have bigger things on your mind than hobbits and their hurt feelings. So just…leave me alone. Please. At least for a little while.”

Bilbo held up his hand to stop anything Thorin might have said. “I’m just too tired. Now, if it should please your majesty, I’ll wish you a good evening.”

If Thorin nodded or made a move, Bilbo didn’t see it. He had already turned and walked away, leaving the king standing there in the cold, wet alley. He felt no sense of pride or accomplishment for talking Thorin down, it wasn’t something that he took any sort of pleasure in. They were both miserable and hurt but he was done letting Thorin takes pieces of it out of his spirit. If Thorin and some of the other dwarves wanted to keep looking at him with suspicion, that was their right. His friendship wouldn’t be forced on them any longer.

“Bilbo!” Bofur, Bofur, Balin, Nori and Ori were at the dining room table when he pushed open the front door and strode inside, startling Gloin who had been sitting in the front room, no doubt to catch him if he tried to leave. “What were you doin’ wanderin’ about out there? It’s comin’ down in buckets!”

“Oh dear, you’re soaked,” Ori said fretfully, snatching up his napkin and climbing down from his bench.

“Leave it!” Dwalin snapped from the kitchen. “How’d you get out?”

“I climbed out the window. Lock it if you must, but I don’t plan on repeating the experience any time soon. Now I’m going to bed, I’ve had a rather trying day.”

“Wouldn’t you like a bite of dinner first? We have some lovely fresh venison.” Bombur appeared in the kitchen doorway, a ladle in one hand.

“Very kind of you to offer, but I’m not hungry. Goodnight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited. I'm going to go crawl away and die now. Happy Sunday.


	45. Yield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Smutty Nonsense

There was a bird on the windowsill. It was a brown creature with a white speckled breast, small enough that it could have comfortably rested in the palm of Bilbo’s hand if it had been so inclined. It had settled itself in the corner with all of its feathers fluffed up against the brisk wind, facing away from the thin glass behind which Bilbo watched it over the top of his book. The hobbit was tempted to open the window to try to cajole the thrush inside but he was certain that his good intention would only startle it and send it fluttering off. So he stayed in bed and turned the page, glancing up once in a while to see if it was still there.

It was the only company he’d had all morning.

It was long past breakfast time and even though his stomach rumbled uncomfortably as the smell of cooking drifted under his closed door, Bilbo ignored it. He simply wasn’t in the mood to put up with dwarves and their dour moods and didn’t much feel like calling for a tray to be brought up. Maybe he would creep down in time for lunch but for now he was content to lay on top of his blankets with his shoes off and his foot propped up on a pillow to air out. Lanthiron had sent a salve with him to smooth on the red scar tissue when it began to pain him. It had begun to throb rather nastily about an hour ago, no doubt from the exercise he had put it through the day before. Climbing out of a window and trotting around in the rain hadn’t been at all good for him and now he was paying the price for that. Elf healing was miraculous stuff but it could only do so much.

At least he wasn’t sick. That was one thing that he was glad hadn’t come to pass. Last time he’d been in Lake-Town he’d caught a terrible chill and spent days coughing and sniffling up a storm and generally making a snotty mess out of himself. He’d take a sore foot over that, though the sore heart he would have happily given up in trade. It hurt more.

Luckily his sleep had been untroubled by any dreams that he could recall but upon waking the enormity of what he’d done had come crashing back down on him again. He’d shouted at Thorin before, it was impossible not to when the dwarf had a skull as thick as a stone wall, but this was different. He’d been so good about keeping his frustrations and pain to himself over the past few months and all of a sudden it had all come pouring out of him in one go. There hadn’t even been any more anger or irritation left afterwards; just a yawning emptiness that made him never want to leave his borrowed room again. Logic said he’d eventually have to when hunger drove him out, but until then he was going to nurse his hurts, both physical and emotional, until he was ready to face the company again.

 _‘-_ _used today mainly as a bitter tonic, and in natural pest control. As the name implies – ‘_

Bilbo realized that he’d been looking at the same sentence over and over again without actually _reading_ it for the last minute and finally closed his book with a sigh, resting it on his stomach. His mind just wasn’t in the mood for herbal remedies today it seemed. It was the only book he’d packed that he still had left. The other one, the one full of maps and drawings, had been lost when the bandits raided their camp back in the Misty Mountains. It was probably just a handful of pages scattered across the landscape now, but it didn’t really matter. It was just a book.

“They’re just things,” Bilbo murmured as he laced his fingers together over the leather back of the book. “No need to get attached.” He was lucky that he’d retained as much as he had. His battered old rucksack lay next to his bed, still filled with most of the things that he’d started with from home so long ago. Not that it really mattered. He’d only packed the necessities and little more (other than his spare pipe and he had no idea where that had gotten off to).

The thrush fluffed itself again and then took off, startled into flight as a knock sounded on Bilbo’s door. The hobbit gave the window a mournful look and wished that he could escape from the unwanted interruption just as easily.

“Ori, I told you that I’m not feeling well. I’ll talk to you this evening.”

The scribe had already been by twice that morning to check on him and both times Bilbo had turned him away at the door. It was nice being able to confide in someone now, but at the moment he simply didn’t feel like being questioned and stared at over the top of a notebook like he was a new breed of show pony.

The door opened despite his protests, toed along by a steel-capped boot.

Bilbo shrank down in his bed, trying to hide below the collar of his white shirt as Thorin stepped inside. He was very clearly _not_ Ori and also the very last person Bilbo felt like dealing with. He was barely dressed, still in bed with his foot up, and not ready to fight with the king.

“Terribly sorry, but as you can see I’m not exactly in a state to entertain,” he said shortly as he opened his book back up and hid his face in it. It would work well enough as a shield between him and Thorin’s wrath. He couldn’t help but glance over the top of the cover to try to gauge exactly how much trouble he was in for losing control the day before.

Thorin looked as though he was on the edge of saying something and kept thinking better of it. A tray was held gingerly between his hands, a bit too big to be made with dwarves or hobbits in mind. On it there was a bowl of oatmeal with a golden piece of fried fish on it. Much to his embarrassment his stomach let out a loud growl at the sight of the food, reminding him that not only had he skipped dinner, but breakfast now as well. Not that he’d been getting many proper meals lately between going hungry in Mirkwood and rations of medicine and weak broths in the infirmary of the Woodland Realm. Anyone else he might have happily taken the peace offering from, but since Thorin was the one offering it he remained wary of it.   

He watched as the dwarf’s eyes trailed down to his maimed foot and then quickly jerked away. It wasn’t pretty between the missing toe and rope-like scars going all the way up to his knee but Bilbo was grateful that he hadn’t lost the leg entirely. That he could still walk on it was his idea of very good luck. 

With dark and uncertain eyes, Thorin pushed the door shut again and slowly approached, setting the tray at the foot of the bed. He didn’t quite shuffle his feet, but the posture reminded Bilbo very much of the time that Frodo had thrown a frog into his friend Rosemary’s face and then been made to apologize to both her and her mother. He hadn’t touched a frog again for nearly a year after that, so great was his shame. 

“Did you want something?” Bilbo finally asked just to break the silence, though it did nothing to diffuse the tension that hung in the air.

A myriad of conflicting emotions played across Thorin’s face as he stood at the foot of the bed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he fought with himself. Finally one of those restless hands reached up and the dwarf rubbed at his sternum through the travel worn fabric of his tunic.

“I’m sorry.”

“Very kind of you to say so,” Bilbo said shortly, raising his book up just enough that he couldn’t see Thorin anymore. It was very rude, but it seemed the best thing to do. “Now please, I’m sure you have something better to do than make peace with the burglar.”

There was no sound of the dwarf’s footsteps retreating. “I don’t.”

A page turned. "Alright, I accept your apology. I think that it’s best that we both move on now. I am your employee after all. It wouldn't do for either of us to hold grudges since neither of us has the time to focus on that." He turned another page. “Good morning.”

"Bilbo, I'm not only apologizing for yesterday." Thorin reached out and pushed the book down. "For everything I said. For doubting you. I walked for a while after you left me in that alley and I know that I was wrong for turning on you like that. You have been nothing but loyal to me and this company and have assured our safety this far. You are one of us, and isolating you is not what I sought to do."

With a sigh Bilbo let the book return to its resting place on his stomach. "No, but it happened anyway and there's not much that can be done about it now. I'm sorry for what I did. I would say it a thousand times if it would change anything.” He glanced up at Thorin and gave him a half smile. "I guess I can't always get everything right."

“You shouldn’t have to.” The king settled himself on the edge of the bed, careful not to upset the breakfast tray as he nudged it a bit closer to Bilbo under the guise of making a place for himself to sit. “This quest is my responsibility, as are those who signed the contract to join on with me. If Dwalin had been the one to aid in our escape by poisoning me I would have accepted that it was the only option and not questioned it as I did with you.”

“You’ve known Dwalin a lot longer than you’ve known me.”

Thorin gave him a wry smile. “I’m not sleeping with Dwalin.”

“You aren’t sleeping with me either,” Bilbo plucked the piece of fried fish off the top of the breakfast bowl and nibbled on a corner of it. It was still hot.

“No, I suppose not after…”

Bilbo glanced up and narrowed his eyes at the dwarf as Thorin started twisting one of his silver rings around and around on his finger. “Don’t you give me those sad eyes. Kili does the exact same thing when he wants something and now I know who he learned it from.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You liar, you’re doing it right now!”

Like ice, the wall that had risen between them slowly began to melt. It wasn’t completely gone, maybe it would never be, but for the first time in days Bilbo felt something like warmth inside of him. The fish was gone before he’d realized he’d eaten the whole thing and he reached for the bowl of oatmeal it had rested on, his appetite restored.

“Kili learned that face from his mother, I assure you. I remember very well the times she used it on our father to get her way, and then on Frerin and me”

“It must be a Durin trait,” Bilbo said around a mouthful of oatmeal sweetened with what tasted like clover honey. “Because you do it just as well as your nephews. Luckily I’m a hard-hearted hobbit and I’m not falling for it.”

“I’m not trying to make you fall for anything but your own breakfast.” Thorin retorted. “Bombur told me that you didn’t stay for dinner and I hadn’t seen you come down this morning.”

Come down and be given sideways looks by Balin and Dwalin and have Fili and Kili suddenly have somewhere important to be if he joined them at the table? “No, I preferred my own company this morning.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Thorin said shortly. “All of them. You won’t be a prisoner on this quest, nor a pariah. I know my nephews enjoy your company and they’ve shunned it on my wishes only, not their own.”

“I understand, Thorin. They’re your relatives, not mine. I would be leery about breaking bread with someone who had poisoned my favorite uncle too. I might even be a bit more extreme than just keeping away like they’ve been doing. I suppose being tossed in the river was the least of my worries with as loyal as they are to you.” His spoon stilled in his bowl as he looked down at the milky dregs in the bottom.

“They’re also loyal to you. As I said, I’ll speak with them and make it known that we’ve made peace with each other and I won’t stand for you to be mistreated any further.”

“You don’t need to – “

“I said I’d talk to them!”

They stared at each other in silence until Bilbo leaned forward and set his bowl back on the tray with a clatter.

“Fine.”

“Bilbo, I didn’t mean to shout. You just bring out the – “

“Don’t you _dare_ try to blame your horrific temper on me, Thorin Oakenshield! Rouse it I may, but you’re the one who lets it come out of your mouth rather than thinking rationally about it like most people would.” Bilbo seized his book and chucked it at the dwarf before flopping back against his pillow. “You have worse manners than a mountain troll.”

Thorin caught the book and lowered it with an astonished expression. “I can’t believe you just threw your book at me.”

“And you can shove it up your – “

“Bilbo!”

Bilbo just crossed his arms and glared.

Thorin, perhaps sensing that he was out-stubborned for once, took the book and the empty tray and set them on the floor before resettling himself on the edge of the bed with a sigh. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and sighed loudly. For a moment Bilbo could pretend that everything was fine again and they were nipping at each other for the sheer entertainment of it instead of out of any true anger. It was a happy little day dream.

“You’re infuriating,” Thorin grumbled from behind his hands.

“And you’re a bad tempered blow-hard. We’re a matched set.” The hobbit sat forward and rested his elbows on his drawn-up knees so that he could be at the same level. “What are we doing, Thorin?”

The king lowered his hands and rested them on his legs instead, looking up at the wooden ceiling. "You’re talking about how we are made for each other. I’m sitting here quietly.”

“That doesn’t explain what we’re doing. It’s a ridiculous dance that neither of us knows the steps to and half the time I’m convinced we’re about to trip and fall flat on our faces.”

Thorin snorted. "I am certain that we’ve already done that. We’re simply too stubborn to give in and keep getting back up."

"Well, I know you have. I was talking about me." Bilbo didn't bother to try to hide his smile.

"You wouldn't keep trying if you weren't just as determined. It's what we..."

 _Want._ It hung between them unsaid.

Bilbo reached out and caught one of the dangling strands of Thorin's hair, giving it a soft tug backwards. "Don't try to figure out what I want, Thorin. You'll just end up giving yourself a headache."

The dwarf grunted. "Then tell me."

_I want you to live. I want Fili and Kili to live. I want Smaug to have never come to Erebor. I want to figure out how to close this hole in my heart that you keep making bigger without knowing. I want to be happy again._

“I want a kiss,” was all he said and pulled a little harder on Thorin’s hair to tilt his head back. He wanted to be just a little bit selfish. Here, in the shadow of the mountain, it was easier than ever to imagine the worst and if this gave him one spark to hold onto in his darker moments, it might make things just a little bit more bearable. 

In his surprise Thorin didn’t even try to catch himself as he fell back. Lying down he was forced to look up at Bilbo, seeming as much curious as he was shocked. "A kiss?"

"I believe I said that, yes. I feel as though I've earned one after what you've put me through." So he claimed it, leaning down and covering Thorin's mouth with his own. It was a soft kiss, no tongues or teeth or anything else distracting. Just one proper kiss.

Despite all of tension, the distrust and heated exchanges, Thorin melted into the gentle touch of their lips. One of his hands came up as if to cup behind the Bilbo's head, to deepen the intimate kiss, but instead he only played with the curls. He knew his place in this. Bilbo had initiated this kiss and had not asked for him to add to it.

"You can touch," Bilbo said softly. "I didn't like seeing you in chains in the dungeon. Just...be gentle." He wasn’t yet sure how far he wanted to take this yet. It could end with one kiss, it could turn into more. Thorin’s blunt fingers pressing into his scalp weren’t helping him make up his mind at all, so when Thorin sought another kiss he gave into it to give himself more time to think. This one he wanted deep and slow in the hope that it would help them both find a comfortable place to rest in each other's presence.

Thankfully Bilbo didn't feel overwhelmed or as if he was being challenged for who was leading the kiss. This was different. Even as he opened under Thorin's soft touches they both knew that Thorin was the one who was silently asking for permission. It was only by Bilbo's say-so that they were here at all and at any point he could change his mind and send the other away.

And they both knew that if he did, Thorin would go without a fight.

Already Bilbo’s power over the situation had been acknowledged. Thorin was careful in his quest for more, starting with just the kiss and then bringing his other hand into the play when he wasn’t rebuffed. His fingers grazed across Bilbo’s pointed ear, but there was no sharp spike of pleasure. Instead it was more muted since his desire was only the smallest of embers. Bilbo leaned into the touch anyway, his eyes soft as he enjoyed the feeling of Thorin’s rough fingertips against his skin. When he decided that he’d had his fill of that, he pulled Thorin’s hand back by the wrist and pressed a soft kiss to the dwarf’s palm.

"Bilbo?" When his hand was pulled away the dwarf looked worried, clearly concerned that he had done something wrong.

“Would you stay?” Bilbo murmured against his hand. “Even if you knew it won’t be quite the same?” It could never be. Whereas before they’d been willing to change to try to fit each other, now there were jagged edges that were bound to collide. They weren’t perfect fits no matter what Bilbo had claimed. They’d hurt and been hurt in return and those wounds were still raw despite the apologies that had been traded.

"So long as you will have me."

A soft finger traced the crease between Thorin's brows and then trailed down the bridge of his nose and across his lips. "I'll have you."

Thorin he caught his hand and shifted as if to sit up. "I promise I will not leave you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep. In fact, don't make me any promises. I'm foolish enough to want to hold you to them." The hobbit’s hand tangled in Thorin's long hair and used it to keep the king from sitting up. He tucked both of his feet underneath himself and leaned over Thorin, kissing him well enough to press him flat against the rumpled covers. For a moment he thought Thorin would push back, insist on being the one on top, but then he seemed to relax and went pliant under Bilbo’s hands. 

It wasn’t submission so much as trust that had Thorin’s lips parting as Bilbo kissed him, their breaths mingling and teeth scraping against each other’s lips as moved to get ever closer. Bilbo’s hands speared into Thorin’s hair and he used his grip to tilt the dwarf’s head to a better angle, tongue delving into his mouth so that they twined wetly together. Thorin’s next breath came out as a soft whimper.

Goosebumps rose up all over Bilbo’s arms and prickled across the back of his neck at the sound and he knew he’d never get tired of hearing it. Of being the one who brought it out of the usually stoic king. When he pulled back he felt Thorin’s hand curl around the back of his head, brushing against his ear again and this time it made him shiver.

“Will you let me have you?” He whispered against the corner of Thorin’s reddened mouth. Beneath him Thorin jerked and his grip on Bilbo’s hair tightened just enough to make the hobbit close his eyes.

“You – But I…”

Bilbo waited, his legs tucked carefully underneath him and his face brushing against Thorin’s as the king cleared his throat and tried to find his words. His fingers gentled and began to stroke rather than restrain, curling through the soft ebony strands and spreading them out across the sheets.

“Yes,” he finally murmured, strength and surety coming back into his voice. “I will allow it. But I want to touch you first and collect everything I was denied the last time we were together.”  

“Oh, yes please. I didn’t like having you chained up like that.” Bilbo pulled back and caught Thorin’s hand again, gently touching at the faint bruises that were still evident there from his captivity. A bit of rope or scarf play was all well and good, but those shackles had been cruel and he much preferred Thorin having his hands free when they were like this. They were far too wicked to be bound for very long.

“Nor did I.” Thorin leaned up on his elbows. “Lay back, my burglar. I’ll have my reward before you have yours.”

“It’s a good thing I’m the patient sort,” Bilbo sighed as he settled back onto his pillow again and gently bit down on one of his knuckles to keep from laughing as he watched Thorin roll back onto his hands and knees. His hair had gone wild around his face and between that and his untrimmed beard the dwarf reminded him very strongly of a bear coming out in the spring and blinking in the light.  That comparison only lasted until the other crawled over him and settled himself very firmly between his legs, keeping them spread with his sheer mass and then Bilbo very quickly forgot about anything having to do with bears.

“Thorin,” he said warningly as the dwarf started to press kisses against his bare neck.

“I’m simply ridding you of your clothes, don’t worry.” Broad fingers began at his collar bone and undid the button there before moving down to the next and then the next until Bilbo’s shirt gaped open at his sides and Thorin was able to coax it off him entirely. It was pushed aside and lost among the sheets as the dwarf gently rubbed the skin over Bilbo’s sternum. “You’ve gotten slender,” he said quietly.

“I think we all have – _oh_ ,” Bilbo breathed as Thorin’s hands covered his sides and squeezed before shifting up so that his thumbs brushed over Bilbo’s nipples and made them tighten. He shifted restlessly, legs tightening around Thorin’s hips as the dwarf began his erotic torture. Teeth dug into his neck and then the bite was soothed by a warm tongue that made Bilbo squeak as it traced the marks left behind.

"It doesn’t matter. You are still comely to my eyes." Thorin continued his slow torment, determined to draw out and savor the sounds that Bilbo had denied him while he’d been locked away in that jail cell. For now Bilbo was content to be his. He trailed his lips down to tease a nipple even as his fingers slipped down to undo the ties at Bilbo's waist.

The flattery wasn’t necessary but Bilbo couldn’t help but preen a little bit under it, a flush rising to his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he looked away. “Thank you.”

Thorin seemed determined to have him bare so he could worship every inch of flesh. He knew for a fact that dwarves not naturally affectionate to those outside of their close circle, but Thorin seemed content to make an exception with him. Without piercings or braids to get tangled Thorin was bolder about nipping at progressively lower spots, pulling the waistband of Bilbo’s trousers down as he went. They slid down easily. The ties didn't provide much of a hindrance since Bilbo hadn't bothered to do them up completely that morning. He hadn't anticipated having visitors after all.

"Careful," Bilbo warned as he pulled his feet gingerly through the leg, trying to keep his salve from rubbing off on it too badly.

A flash of guilt traveled across Thorin’s face but he pressed on regardless, making sure to kiss Bilbo until he'd freed the hobbit of his trousers and small clothes, rough fingers curling around his hips and thumbs rubbing in soothing circles. "Are you still alright?"

"I'm fine," Bilbo reassured him. "I just didn't want to make a mess out of my pants. That seems to happen quite a lot around you..."

That earned him a warm chuckle and Thorin pressed their foreheads together as he dragged his fingertips over Bilbo's thighs. "I shall bare the blame for that gladly."

It was too tempting to resist so Bilbo leaned up enough that he could rub their noses together. "I'm sure you will, but not this morning."

"No, the only mess that will be made is the one I am about to make of you." As if he couldn’t resist, Thorin sought another kiss. This one with a hint of the passion they had shared in their more heated moments. Bilbo nipped at the dwarf's bottom lip and combed his fingers through his beard, tugging at it to keep him close until Thorin moved his mouth down again. He focused on Bilbo's belly, tracing over the soft flesh with his tongue as he massaged the hobbit's inner thighs.

“Do you remember what you did for me in that cell?” He murmured.

“Y-yes.” Bilbo's breath was coming faster now. Every time Thorin's whiskers brushed against his belly he shifted and murmured praise and encouragement. His own hands kept returning the dwarf's hair, alternately stroking and tangling in it depending on what Thorin was doing to him. "D-Don't make me come," he warned as heat began to coil in his belly.

"I thought you could last through more than one?" The dwarf moved lower still, his teeth scraping against Bilbo’s hip.

"I can b-but I wanted to save it for -”

"For me?"

"Yes."

"For more than one? You intended to tire me out?" Thorin let his cheek brush against the arousal he had been previously ignoring between Bilbo's legs, the brush of his beard making Bilbo shiver.

A quavering moan broke from Bilbo's throat and his head slammed back into his pillow. "You're t-terrible. I never should have let you in."

"But you did." Thorin was too proud to back down. He lifted his head enough to kiss at swollen head of Bilbo's cock before letting his tongue play around the slit.

"I don- ah! _Thorin!_ " Bilbo was certain that his eyes crossed when Thorin's tongue skated across his glans and his hands went tight in the dwarf's hair, not sure whether to push him away or hold him close. He really had wanted to save his first for when Thorin yielded to him, but at this rate he wasn't going to last long enough for it. Thorin really didn't need to know entirely what he was doing to make him squirm. He didn't take the aching prick into his mouth, instead kissing at the shaft and letting the sensations of his facial hair do the work for him.

"S-stop, you have to stop or I'll -” Bilbo released Thorin's hair and desperately clawed at the sheets, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to hold on to his self-control. It was running through his fingers like water. The exquisite ecstasy of Thorin's mouth was pushing him too far too fast and if he didn't manage to pull back he would be completely lost.

To his surprised, Thorin did finally relent when he cried halt. Not before he dragged his tongue up the side of his cock though, a final effort to drive Bilbo insane as he pulled away. It almost worked. The moment Thorin pulled back Bilbo wanted to drag him back again and demand that he finish what he had started. He had asked however, and Thorin had listened and that meant more to him than a quick finish. He wasn't going to be bullied or taken advantage of in the midst of pleasure. It seemed that Thorin really did want to regain his trust.

That didn't stop him from rolling over onto his stomach and groaning into his pillow as he attempted to regain the shreds of his sanity.

"Something wrong Bilbo?" Thorin didn't even try to hide his smug look and he laughed when a single eye appeared to glare daggers at him. "I did stop as you asked. You cannot blame me for that."

"Watch me."

"I will watch you try." Thorin reached over and pinched the hobbit’s exposed rear.

Bilbo reached up to push his hair out of his eyes and hissed through his teeth in aggravation. His shaft throbbed where it was caught between his belly and the sheets, demanding that he see to it immediately if not sooner. He wasn't used to denying himself like this. "Why are you still dressed?" He groused.

"You wanted me bare?"

"I did and I do."

"You should have said something sooner." The dwarf shifted so he could undo the straps on his boots and pull them from his feet. It was always his boots that gave Bilbo the most trouble and Thorin made it look so easy.

"Let's just assume that if you have clothes on, I probably want them off." He tried to settle in more comfortably but that proved impossible in his current position. With a groan he rolled back onto his back so that he could watch as Thorin shucked his layers and gently stroke his shaft. For some reason it helped to clear his head a little.

"Are you certain you'll make it much longer if you do that?" The shirt was discarded easily, looking too big even for the king, but he wasn't so quick to rid himself of his pants. Only the string holding them closed was undone so they could hang loose, taunting Bilbo.

"If I didn’t think I could last, I wouldn’t do it." He liked the way Thorin's cheekbones grew red when he was aroused and the way the muscles in his arms twitched, making the tattoos inscribed there seem almost alive. "Let me do the rest?"

It was the return of control. The weight of it was significant, but Thorin nodded and curled his fingers into the sheets. "How did you want...?” The dwarf straightened his legs and then bent them at the knees, his smugness fading to be replaced by uncertainty and what Bilbo thought might be a touch of nerves.

Bilbo left off stroking himself and patted the bed next to him, curious as to whether Thorin would actually come or if he would only earn one of Thorin’s notorious ‘looks’. He wasn’t disappointed. Thorin stayed exactly where he was, raising a brow at him as he waited to be asked properly to move.

"Oh alright, would you please come here? I'd prefer to do this in bed so I don't have to get up."

"You should have said so in the first place." The size of the bed (which would have been small for a human but was the right size for the two of them) worked to their advantage and Thorin was able to settle comfortably next to Bilbo. "Will me being in the pillows like this work?"

"It's nice to have them support your back," Bilbo admitted as he got up on his knees, breath still uneven as he looked Thorin over. The dwarf's arousal pressed tightly against the front of his pants and there was a small wet spot that Bilbo couldn't help but touch. Thorin’s eyes were fixed on his hand and he arched under that touch as he made a small, pleased noise.

"I like this," Bilbo said as he raked his fingers through the thick line of dark hair scattered through with silver that disappeared into the top of Thorin's pants.

"What? Me a subject to your will?"

"No, your hair."

"All of it I hope."

Bilbo laughed and leaned down to nuzzle that trail. "Every bit, even the gray ones."

"M-mm...You’re going to have gray before you know it Bilbo." The dwarf's hips rolled again on their own as he dropped his head back.

"Come now, I'm a hobbit in my prime. I have at least thirty years or so before I start going silver." That was actually a lie. He’d found his first gray hair the very year he’d returned to the Shire from Erebor. Putting aside the thought, Bilbo hooked his fingers into the waist of Thorin's pants and began to coax them down his hips. There was no tension or nervousness now. They had been intimate only a handful of times, yet Thorin readily held up his hips so his trousers could be pulled down until he was left exposed for his companion’s pleasure.

"Do you remember when you asked me whether I wanted to be on my back or stomach? In your room at Beorn's? I was so twisted up then that you could have told me the sky was purple and I would have believed it. I never would have dreamed that I'd be asking the same thing one day." Bilbo lifted one of Thorin's legs and brought it to his side so that he was mimicking the pose Thorin had taken with him mere minutes before, cradled comfortably between his legs.

Thorin's face took on a deep shade of red as his nerves betrayed him. "I will not experience this first with my back to you. I want to see you."

"First? With me or with anyone?" Bilbo asked curiously, running both his hands down Thorin's furred thighs.

The dwarf chose to be silent, though that alone spoke volumes.

"Really? Oh Thorin..." Bilbo leaned forward so that their hips were fused together and he could press a kiss to Thorin's chin. It was as high as he could reach.

Stubborn as ever Thorin simply grumbled, unwilling to be coaxed to speak clearly even as he was kissed. Maybe it was because he hadn't ever wanted to, or found someone he wanted to with. More likely it was because Thorin had always put his duties before his own personal pleasure. Not now. "Do you trust me?" Bilbo asked, not moving. He could feel the tension in Thorin's legs where they bracketed his hips.

Those legs squeezed around Bilbo's waist and Thorin looked up at him, his eyes serious. "Yes."

“Good. Give me a moment.” It took a monumental amount of willpower, but Bilbo left the comfortable cradle of Thorin’s legs and clambered off the bed. The cold floor against his bare feet made him yelp but did nothing to cool the excitement and desire burning in his veins. That was more than enough to keep him warm as he dug in his rucksack and pulled out one of the creams Lanthiron had sent with him. It was simply a moisturizer to soothe tight skin and the elven healer probably would have frowned at the use he intended for it now. What he didn’t know would hurt him though.

Thorin exhaled loudly from back in the bed, his whole body sagging as he spread his arms out to his sides and let his legs stretch out to kicked away their clothes, banishing them to the floor.

"You're making a mess," the hobbit chastised him as he clambered back up onto the bed with a glass jar tucked into the crook of his arm. He set it next to Thorin before rubbing the scars on his leg to soothe the ache that had taken up residence there.

"They were in the way," Thorin defended. He was still laid out, eyes closed and refusing to move even as Bilbo's weight settled near him on the bed again.

The hobbit leaned over him again and poked him softly between his eyes. "You can change your mind. I won't be insulted."

The stormy blue eyes opened just a sliver. "I'm not changing my mind. Simply waiting for you."

"You look like you're waiting to be executed." Instead of waiting for a reply, Bilbo walked his fingers down Thorin's front and then his half-hard cock, tracing the fragile blue veins there.

Thorin’s lips, which had parted to answer, could only form a half-voiced moan as those teasing fingers found his cock. "Tricky hobbit…"

"So I've been told." The lid of the glass jar was uneasily removed with one hand and Bilbo scooped out a generous fingerful of the lotion. It had no scent but that was hardly a loss. The glob clung tenuously to his finger until he tilted his hand, and then it slid off and landed with a wet 'splat' right along the curved underside of Thorin's cock.

The answering gasp was proof enough that Thorin was startled and he reached as if to remove the glob. "That's _cold_ Bilbo!"

"It'll warm up, don't worry." Before Thorin could wipe it off Bilbo simply spread it around with his hand, coating the entirety of Thorin's length with a thin sheen of lotion. It was almost pretty in a purely carnal way, even in the weak light coming through the window. Thorin’s tongue appeared and wet his bottom lip as he looked down the length of his body to where Bilbo was toying at him, crouched between his spread legs and perfectly happy to stay right there. “I’m going to touch you now. I’ll stop if you want me to, just say so.”

He could already tell by the mulish set of Thorin’s jaw that the dwarf wasn’t going to back down now. He’d agreed to this and he would see it through to the end even if he didn’t necessarily want to. Bilbo decided that he’d have to do a very good job of changing his mind. Thorin would writhe before breakfast time was over.

“I’m serious,” Bilbo said, a bit more firmly.

“There has to be something going for it if you enjoy it so much. Get on with it.”

“No need to be rude.”

Lotion-slick fingers slid down to the cleft between his legs and rubbed against the smooth stretch of skin hidden behind Thorin’s sac. The sudden pressure made the dwarf jump and he tried to close his legs before he remembered himself. Before he could even try to relax again Bilbo’s fingers were pressing up against his hole, the now warm lotion making them slippery enough that two of them slid inside with ease. They weren’t very long or broad, but Bilbo crooked them forward and felt confidence flood him when Thorin cried out and tilted his hips forward in a mute plea for more. They both remembered how he had reacted when the same thing had happened that night in Thranduil’s dungeon, how surprising the pleasure and the following orgasm had been for Thorin. The same thing was happening now but this time there wasn’t any need for silence or speed. The others were all either downstairs at breakfast or out exploring Lake-Town.

No guards, no chains, just a pleasure both of them had been craving.

“Is it good?” Bilbo teased as he returned his free hand to Thorin’s flushed cock and squeezed.

The muscles in Thorin’s chest and stomach were as tight as steel and he’d seized a pillow and turned his head to hide his red face in it. “D-don’t talk when you’re – “

“When I’m touching you? Can you feel it when I move inside you, Thorin? When I do this?” His fingers sank in to the next knuckle and he spread them apart slightly, captivated by the growing color that was spreading down Thorin’s neck. Every inch of Bilbo’s skin had come alive and his nerves were humming with the need to touch and be touched. It was heady, this power. The noises coming from Thorin’s mouth didn’t resemble words in any language and they only grew louder and more fervent when Bilbo pushed a third finger in and scissored them all open. His knees sagged open willingly now and Bilbo crowded in even closer, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his penis where a clear bead of sticky fluid had already gathered.

“Mahal you – Bilbo!” Thorin bucked and shuddered as if his mouth was almost too much for the dwarf to handle. “Yes I can feel it. I can…all of it.”

“Would you like more?” Bilbo asked and gave the tip a small lick to encourage his partner. He wasn’t going to rush this.

"Ye- That depends on what is...more."

"Still suspicious, I should have known." He had to lean forward a bit to get the leverage to push his fingers in as far as they would go. Thorin didn't even have to ask and still Bilbo was pushing on. Pushing _in_ rather and Thorin moaned low as he was filled in such a new way. No words could have prepared him for this, but he was finally understanding how he could make past partners come apart with just his fingers.

Practice always made perfect and there was no denying that Bilbo had quite a bit of experience under his own belt.

And then, right as Thorin seemed to be losing himself to the pleasure Bilbo was wringing out of him with his fingers, it all stopped. The hobbit’s hand stilled, the fingers inside of him didn’t tickle at that sensitive place any more. It all just…stopped.

Thorin continued to bask in his high for a moment more before he realized Bilbo had stopped. The breath he hadn't intended to hold was released, his body sagging before he squirmed. "What is this? Bilbo, I thought you wanted- why did you stop?"

"Because I'm not going to make you finish with my fingers. I made you stop and I got to suffer for it, so it's hardly fair that you come through completely unscathed." His fingers made a slick, rather obscene noise as he pulled them free and left Thorin empty and wanting, spread out naked on the sheets like an offering.

"You _asked_ me to stop." Thorin growled. "I did not ask the same of you."

"I rarely do as you ask and may have to make a habit out of doing the exact opposite just to vex you." Bilbo crooked a finger at Thorin to tempt him to sit up a bit and then soundly kissed him when he obliged. "You're far too used to getting your own way."

"And what's wrong with getting what I ask for? It is not as if I ask for the world."

No, just a mountain.

Bilbo hitched the dwarf's legs up so that they wrapped around his hips and he could press his aching erection to the cleft between Thorin's legs. “Why don’t you ask for something else?”

The color instantly flared on Thorin's cheeks and he huffed in embarrassment. "Of course...At your leisure?"

"And your service." Another dip into the lotion pot and his cock was slick to the point of dripping. Already slightly stretched thanks to his fingers, Thorin parted before him beautifully and Bilbo nearly finished before he was even halfway in from the sheer pleasure of it. The pressure was more intense than just a few fingers and Thorin had gone completely still as Bilbo pushed gradually deeper, but the feeble, mewling noises that were coming from his mouth were encouraging.

"O-oh, don't make noises like that, I can't -” Bilbo clenched his teeth and had to shut his eyes to block out the sight of Thorin writhing beneath him. Between this and the torment that the dwarf had put him through earlier his staying power was being sorely tested.

Naturally Bilbo's pleading for him to stop only seemed to make it worse. "Can you really...can you really last? Bilbo-!"

With a cry that sounded like it had been ripped out of him, Bilbo hunched forward and came, his shoulders shaking with exertion and his fingers digging into Thorin’s legs like claws. There was an answering gasp from Thorin as everything seemed to freeze.

"Just...just give me a moment," Bilbo panted and leaned forward until he could rest his forehead against Thorin's sternum. "Goodness gracious. That was embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?! Bilbo you're still - _ooh_. I could feel when you did that."

"You make the best sounds," Bilbo mumbled into his skin, caressing the fingernail marks he'd left in Thorin's thighs.

"Y-yours are much better," Thorin panted. He was trying not to move, to control himself as Bilbo recovered, but it was growing increasingly difficult and he whined quietly for relief.

With his eyes half-closed, Bilbo breathed in the musky, rich scent of Thorin's skin. He was in a daze and the silence between his heartbeats seemed far too long. Each one echoed in his ears and made him flinch but Thorin's moan cut through it like a knife in the dark and sent lightning bolts shooting down his spine. "Alright...alright." He took a deep breath and flexed his hips, finally sinking completely into Thorin. He could admire the mess he'd made of the king later.

"Ah! You weren't even in completely?" Having been expecting the beginnings of shallow thrusts or even the hobbit pulling free Thorin was quick to protest when instead he was opened further. "Can I...?" A hand detached from the sheets and the older tried to slide it between them.

With a groan of effort Bilbo straightened his back again and sat up. Sweat had started to trickle into his eyes and he could feel it sliding down the side of his neck and over his collarbone. His bangs were saturated with it. "Yes, please do. I think I need my hands just now." He squeezed Thorin's knees meaningfully. With permission given Thorin wrapped his own fingers around his glistening cock and started to stroke the flesh with purpose. He was soon again reduced to moans and gasps of pleasure, the hold on his legs all that was reminding him now not to twist in Bilbo's hold.

Even as he stroked himself, Bilbo was gaining back his endurance. He started with little thrusts, small, shallow things so that he wouldn't overstimulate himself right away. Thorin was tight, almost painfully so, be with every movement he seemed to adjust and before long Bilbo's panting moans joined Thorin's.

“Aah – by the Maker! Thorin, you’re going to end me,” Bilbo gasped, his face contorting as he thrust harder, desperate to drive them both to the end.

The older was driven to look away, his breathing growing increasingly labored before he started to gasp his lover's name. He was close, but he didn't seem to have the breath to warn his lover. The bed began to rattle underneath them, the sheets turned into tangled messes around their legs as they shuddered and gasped, grinding desperately against each other.

It was a mess when Thorin finally came. He spilled over his own belly, his own hand continuing to pull at his cock for every last drop of cum as his own body tightened around Bilbo to extract a second release from the hobbit. Together they shook and gasped for air. Bilbo thought he might have sobbed at one point, but he had completely lost control of himself as he spent deep in Thorin's body. His grip on the dwarf's legs loosened and his head fell forward, hair obscuring his view of the utterly debauched king. No words emerged, it just wasn't possible.

Though sticky and wrung out Thorin was warm and satisfied. His legs sagged back onto the bed when Bilbo's hold loosened and he groaned. It wasn't until he could form proper sentences that his eyes fluttered open and he watched the younger recover. "Bilbo?"

It wasn't quite a word, but Bilbo managed to make a noise that might have been acknowledgement.

"Bilbo...I want to turn over."

"Ah, yes that might be best." Bilbo felt quite exhausted, as if he'd been running for miles and miles rather than bedding the king under the mountain. Already his eyes were starting to droop and exhaustion crept up on him, imploring him to simply flop over and sleep for an hour or two. That would have been dreadfully rude though, so he resisted the urge. With as much care as he could muster he pulled himself out from between Thorin's legs and sat down with a groan.

If the dwarf thought the mess was bad before he hadn't realized what it would feel like when Bilbo finally pulled out. A whine might have escaped when they finally separated, but neither cared as Thorin turned to lie on his side, the sticky mess on his belly forgotten. Whoever had to wash their sheets was going to be in for quite the surprise. Bilbo flopped down next to him and quickly stole the pillow before Thorin could get it, smashing his face deeply into it to cover his yawn.

The dwarf was too tired to complain. He was already starting to ache and turned away he let his expression reflect the discomfort. Every nerve was still alight and over-sensitized while his long hair clung to his arms and neck where sweat was cooling against warm flesh.

That was when Bilbo started to chuckle into his pillow.

Thorin huffed in clear annoyance. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

"Clearly something. Tell me."

"I was -" the hobbit giggled. ”I was just imagining the others downstairs and how they'd never guess what was _actually_ going on. Can you imagine Dwalin's face?"

"I don't want to. I'd prefer they not find out."

"Your dignity and kingly virtue is safe with me," Bilbo said with a smile as he wriggled a little bit closer so that he could cuddle up to Thorin and press a wet kiss to his ear, the only bit of skin visible through his hair.  "You look very well-ravished."

Thorin grunted and lifted up one of his arms so that Bilbo could wrap an arm around his waist. "How can you tell when you're only looking at my back?"

"It's sweaty and your hair is tangled. Plus your bum is a rather fetching shade of pink." Bilbo pressed his cheek against Thorin’s shoulder and sighed in contentment. "Thorin?"

"What?"

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Veskasa for the help. I really messed up my wrists with this one and they need some cool down before I start up on the next chapter. Between my carpal tunnel and holiday things I'll still do my best to get things posted in a timely manner, but sometimes I need a little break. Whew. Hope you enjoyed the porn after the storm. *crawls into bed with wrist braces*


	46. On the Doorstep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

It was a cold step on which Bilbo Baggins sat and watched the sun slip lower on the horizon, casting the snow that decorated the mountainside in riotous shades of yellow and pink. It was rough hewn, but purposefully so. The marks that had been made by the chisels and hammers years upon years ago had been worn away by time and weather, making it look almost natural. It would have been entirely unremarkable if it wasn’t for the smooth stretched of stone that rose up behind it, unblemished by bar, bolt, or key-hole.

The threshold to the heart of the mountain.

A wisp of smoke drifted up from the bowl of Bofur’s pipe, on whose stem Bilbo chewed contemplatively. The miner was a warm and steady presence at his side, helping to block some of the frigid breeze that snuck across the side of the mountain and through the rocks to where they sat. Fili was on his other side, whittling away at a piece of wood that he’d found on their journey. The shavings fell down around his boots and were crawled over by the massively fat snails that oozed along the stones, not at all bothered by the handful of dwarves and the one hobbit who had intruded two days ago.  The three who sat on the step were content to sit in relative silence, Bofur and Bilbo trading the pipe stuffed with truly awful tobacco back and forth.

“They’re gettin’ antsy.”

Fili made an irritated noise and stuck his thumb in his mouth where he’d sliced it when Nori appeared next to them and made all three of them jump. The middle Ri brother had found a pebble somewhere and was making it dance across his fingertips, though it went clattering off when Bofur elbowed him hard enough in the ribs to make him wheeze.

“You’re makin’ _me_ antsy. Quit sneakin’ around or someone might put a bell ‘round your neck and pull it tight.”

Nori laughed and retrieved his rock. “I’d like t’ see ‘em try.”

“Don’t let Dwalin hear you say that,” Bilbo warned as he pulled Fili’s finger out of his mouth and dabbed at it with the corner of his coat. “He’ll take it as a challenge.”

A pleased and cunning look passed over Nori’s face and Bilbo had a feeling that if the dwarf had been a cat instead he would have been licking his whiskers. “You think so?”

“You shouldn’t bait him.”

“Ah, baitin’ the bear is one of my life’s greatest pleasures.”

“I thought that was fuckin’ ‘im,” Bofur said as he accepted his pipe back from Bilbo and took a draw so deep it made the tips of his mustache curl.

“Great, now I’ve got that picture stuck in my head,” Fili muttered as Bilbo finished mothering his cut.

Smoke drifted out of Bofur’s nose as he thought about that. “Aye, not too bad of one is it? Arse still covered with freckles, Nori?”

“You’ve all seen me sans my knickers. Course it is.”

“I usually do my best to _not_ stare at people’s bums when they’re bathing,” Bilbo said mildly. “Except on special occasions. Let’s move on, shall we?”

“To what?” Fili picked back up his carving, which was starting to look like the fat offspring of a bear and a pony. “Not as though we’ve been doing much except waiting and growing our beards out.”

“Yes well, I’m sure we didn’t expect Ori to find the door so quickly. We had some extra time until Durin’s Day."

Ori, who was settled himself on a rock so that he could sketch the snails, glanced up and instantly turned pink around his ears before returning to his journal. They had found the secret door very easily, more than anyone in the company but Bilbo had anticipated. He hadn’t actually meant to tell them where the door was, but it had been hard to tell Ori to shove off when the scribe had sat next to him after the first fruitless day of searching and quietly asked if he knew where the door was.

Naturally he had.

The following day, a little bit after lunchtime, Ori had found the secret path that lead up to the hollow where the door rested. Everyone had praised his sharp eyes and Ori had blushed right to the roots of his hair. Bilbo didn’t mind at all since it meant that they got to make camp until Durin’s Day caught up with him and that gave him time to sit and think about what to do next rather than tromping about the mountain looking for a door that he already knew about. It was getting rather trying, playing dumb like this. Age had made him a bit short tempered and given him a distaste for people who wasted time and that was essentially what he’d been doing since midsummer.

If only he’d been able to simply come out and say ‘ _the door is right there, there’s a big fat dragon sleeping on your gold, and I’m here to save your lives since you lack anything remotely resembling common sense_.’

Of course they would have thrown him in his own root back at Bag End cellar and declared him well and truly mad. With that in mind, he would continue to hold his tongue and waste time no matter how unpleasant it was.  At least he had Ori to point in the right direction and didn’t mind one whit that the scribe got the credit for finding the secret door.  

He was content to sit and smoke and think.

Some things had resolved themselves, Bard and the men of Lake-Town included. The boatman had pulled him aside before they had boarded the barge that would take them to the edge of the Long Lake, during the chaos that had ensued with their departure.

“I’ll do it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo had asked, not entirely sure what the man had been referencing. They’d spoken more than once during their stay in the miserable town and Bilbo’s head had been filled with thoughts of the mountain and the dragon that slept under it.

“Your offer.” Bard had caught his elbow to keep him from slipping as Bilbo did his best to edge through the crowd to where Thorin was barking at Fili and Kili for trying to smuggle a dog onto the boat with them. “I spoke with the other men, the ones who aren’t in the Master’s back pocket, and they agree that the risk is worth the chance to be able to feed and clothe their families properly.” The man had glanced over at Thorin, his eyes wary. “Forgive me, but I trust your word more than his. I don’t sense the same greed in you that lurks behind his composure, king or not.”

Bilbo had nodded, knowing all too well the effect of gold on dwarves. “I had no use for gold or gems. I simply want to do what’s best and I would much rather have you as an ally than as an enemy, even if it should cost me my share in the treasure. I’ll have our scribe draw up an agreement for our exchange and send it when I can. What does the Master think of this?”

“No one has spoken of it to him, though I don’t doubt he knows of it. His spies seem to lurk outside of every crack in the walls.”

“Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it. Thank you for this, Bard. You’ve set my mind at rest for the moment.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, Master Hobbit.” Bard’s eyes had turned to the mountain. “If Smaug does indeed still slumber under the mountain, you will find no help from us. Goblins and orcs we can fight, should they appear. Dragons? That’s a different kettle of fish entirely.”

Bilbo had grasped Bard’s sleeve. “If there’s a dragon, I’ll deal with it myself. You have my word that I will do my best to keep Lake-Town and its people safe.”

They had looked at each other for a moment and then Bard had given him a small, grim smile. “You know, I think you will. Good luck, my friend.”

“And to you.”

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo jumped as his thoughts abruptly snapped back to the present and he accepted the pipe that Bofur had been holding out to him. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

“Well drag it back; the sun is starting to set.” Fili nodded at the horizon and his knife disappeared up his sleeve. Gloin and Dwalin, who had been sparring a little ways away to keep themselves occupied, had put away their weapons and there was a sudden nervous energy about the company that betrayed their casual stances. This was what they had traveled over hill and under hill and across rivers and through forests for. What they had suffered and bled for. This one, singular moment when they would know whether or not the mountain could be theirs again.

Thorin, who had been standing at the edge of the sheer drop down, had the key clutched so tightly in his hand that Bilbo could see his knuckles turn pale. His eyes were fixed on the mountains in the distance over which the sun was slowly setting. Bilbo looked down and pretended to busy himself with rekindling the spark in the pipe bowl. He alone knew that it wasn’t daylight that would open the secret door, but rather moonlight. The invisible string that bound him to his secrecy tightened. Again he would have to watch the heartbreak on Thorin’s face when no keyhole appeared and that pained him greatly. He could not watch. 

“It’s time.”

_No it isn’t._

"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,” Balin repeated as he hooked his thumbs into his belt, “and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole."

“Finally!” Kili crowed from where he was standing with Gloin. Bilbo could practically taste the excitement in the air, but all he could muster up was a grimace when Bofur dragged him off the step and pulled him away so that the fading sunlight could hit the invisible door. This was where the misery started. Here at this very door was where everything had taken a turn for the worse and now here he was to suffer through it all over again.

This was where it had all gone wrong.

“Is it too late to go home?” He murmured to Bofur.

“This _is_ home,” the miner whispered back, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and giving him a squeeze. “For most of us that is. It’d be a shame to have t’ walk all the way home without givin’ our regards t’ Smaug.”

“I don’t think he wants our regards,” Bilbo muttered, looking down at his toes as he took a last puff on Bofur’s pipe and gave it back. No amount of tobacco was going to settle his twisting stomach and frayed nerves this evening. He could almost convince himself that he could hear Smaug breathing through the very stone of the mountain.

Every eye but his was fixed on the smooth slab of stone as the sun set, lighting it up in gold and grey. Every breath but his was held in hope. And it was Bilbo’s heart that broke the most when there was no magic and no key-hole appeared to give them entry into the mountain. It was simply a matter of waiting for the moon, but the silence that descended on the company when nothing happened made his heart go cold and tears fill his eyes.

 _Just wait_ , he told himself. _Just keep silent. You cannot give them hope without giving yourself away._

The sound that Thorin made nearly broke that resolve. Bilbo turned and hid his face in Bofur’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to watch, so he could try not to listen as the company clawed and pounded at the door. When Bofur moved to help, Bilbo covered his mouth with both hands and tried to make himself small as he sank down onto the rock that Ori had been sitting on earlier. Their fear and desperation were nearly making him ill. This was their _home_ and they thought that they were losing it all over again.

 _Don’t say it. Don’t say anything. You mustn’t_.

“What did we miss, Balin?”

There was no way to block out the naked pain in Thorin’s voice and Bilbo felt his tears spill over his cheeks unchecked. This wasn’t the end but he’d be damned if it didn’t feel like it.

The sun was gone.

Their hope went with it.

One by one the dwarves trailed away. They gathered their things. No one wanted to stay here, faced with the unforgiving stone. Bilbo didn’t move, not even when Ori crept over to his side, his eyes wide and filled with confusion.

“Bilbo?”

“Don’t ask me,” Bilbo whispered, his face cast in shadows as he looked away. “I cannot say and you should not ask me.”

“But I thought – “

“Go _away_ Ori! Do as I say.”

The young scribe jumped and fell backwards when Bilbo snapped at him, his hurt obvious. Since his secret had been discovered Bilbo had been inclined to confide in Ori. He’d told him stories of what had happened to him the first time, but always he’d been careful of his words, guarding them like Smaug guarded his treasure. They were precious to him and now more than ever he had to keep them close. He’d given away enough by telling Ori where the door was. To tell him that it was moonlight that would open it was simply too much for believability. The last thing he needed right now was for the company to grow more suspicious of him than they already were. Thorin has spoken to them in lake-Town and that had helped the atmosphere, but Bilbo knew that even with their king’s approval some of the dwarves still doubted him. They would have even more reason to do so if they saw Ori speaking to him and then he suddenly interpreted the riddle on Thorin’s map.

Ori sniffed wetly and picked himself up again, picking dead grass off of his mittens. He made a noise like he was going to speak again but nothing came out. Bilbo felt like the worst sort of cad as the scribe shuffled away from him and attached himself to Dori’s side and guilt made his throat close up. Just a little bit longer. Just a little while and then…

Then he’d have to go down that long, dark tunnel and face what slumbered at the bottom.

First he had to survive the company’s despair. A sharp ringing noise sounded and he knew it was the sound of Thorin’s key hitting the stone as he let it slip between his fingers. The king had given up. Bilbo knew how he felt. To have traveled all this way, to have gotten everyone safely to the end only to be faced with defeat? Thorin would be choking on his frustration and misery.

“It might not be safe to go down in the dark,” he murmured to Thorin as he picked up the key and carefully stashed it in his front pocket, trying to keep his voice level. It hit the Consort’s Ring that was already stashed in there.

 _I seem to be picking up all manner of interesting things lately_ , he thought to himself as he patted his pocket.

“I will not stay here. Not for another moment,” Thorin said harshly as he picked up his sword and pack.

“I wasn’t suggesting you do, but moonlight makes for tricky footing and the last thing we need is for someone to take a tumble on the way down and break something. I had a hard enough time getting up with my leg.” He paused and chewed on his lip. “Why don’t you all go down and I’ll join you in the morning.”

That seemed to penetrate Thorin’s haze and he stopped, scowling off at the horizon. Every night since they had left Lake-Town Thorin had made a point of pushing their bedrolls together so that they could sleep with their noses practically brushing. Bilbo had woken more than once in the early hours of the morning to find a pair of cool blue eyes regarding him with something like curiosity and rough fingers trailing down his cheek. It was something that he thought he could get used to - that and the smell of cool stone and warm skin.

“We’ll find another way,” he murmured softly, twining his fingers with Thorin’s and giving the king’s limp hand a squeeze. “This isn’t the end.”

“It is for me. This was my – our last hope.”

“Things might look better in a different light. What do you want to do?” The rest of the company was milling about, talking only in whispers and most lost in their own thoughts and despondency.

“We’ll make camp here,” Thorin ordered gruffly, his hand tightening on Bilbo’s. “We’ll go down in the morning and make for Lake-Town where we can decide on a plan. Perhaps the wizard has another brilliant idea hidden up his sleeve.”

There was a bit of half-hearted laughter at that and packs were dropped again, bedrolls undone. No one set theirs anywhere close to the door. It would only be a little while until the moon rose and restored their good cheer, but until then it was a quiet company that made themselves comfortable on the little ledge above the sheer cliff face.

“Sit with me,” Thorin said as he moved towards the edge. There were several large boulders that rested in the little clearing, and they gave an illusion of privacy as Bilbo followed and they settled themselves behind one of them with their back to the cold rock.

“Thank you for staying,” Bilbo said softly. “I know it must be painful for you, but I do appreciate it.”

“I would not risk injuring any member of my company for my own selfish reasons.” Thorin drew Bilbo’s hand into his lap and began to play with his fingers, curling and uncurling them into his palm. “Especially you.”

“You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes. No one would blame you if you wanted to travel all the way back to the Shire after this. I’m fairly certain we don’t have any secret doors to puzzle out.”

“Small blessings. I just – I really thought that finally _something_ would go right. Everything else I’ve done has lead up to this moment and now…what do I do now? How can I face them after I’ve dragged them so far from their families and their homes and can offer them nothing for it?”

“They did it for you, Thorin. Not for gold or glory. They did it because their king asked them to and because you have their loyalty. I imagine if you wanted to walk in the front door and right into Smaug’s open mouth, they would follow you there too. I know I would. It’s not my first choice,” he added, “but I would.”

Thorin hunched down further into his coat so that the fur collar was tickling his ears. “Perhaps it’s best that more did not come. I begged for an army to help me march on the mountain and I returned with nothing. Until I have the Arkenstone I have no right to lead anyone anywhere. Perhaps we should go back to the Shire. You aren’t hiding any dragons or gold in your cellar, are you?”

“Just a nasty second cousin or two,” Bilbo laughed, scooting in closer so that they were pressed together. His heart gave a leap when Thorin leaned over and rubbed his face into Bilbo’s mess of curls. “It wouldn’t be so bad, being in the Shire. It’s winter now and that means that they’ll be getting ready for the Long Night celebration. Everyone helps set up the tent under the Party Tree and we stay up all night until the sun rises. Talking, laughing, eating. Hobbit things.”

“It sounds like another world from where we are here.”

“It is,” Bilbo agreed. “I wouldn’t mind showing you some day. We don’t have any fine halls or golden cups, but the singing and dancing is always a treat. Fili and Kili would like it.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Bilbo reached up and began to stroke Thorin’s hair. “Some good will come of this. You’ll see.”

“I wish that I had your confidence,” the dwarf said, his voice very hoarse. “Mine seems to have started for Lake-Town already.”  

The wind blew particularly hard then and made them both cringe, pressing together for warmth and shelter. Bilbo wished more than ever he could simply gather up the company and take them back to the Shire where things were warm and comfortable. Then he wouldn’t have to face Smaug. He wouldn’t have to watch Thorin’s sanity slowly fade as the gold sickness ate at his mind. He wouldn’t have to stand on the ramparts of Erebor and watch as orcs sieged the mountain. Everyone could eat and sing and smash all of his dishes and he wouldn’t care one whit.

“Thorin?”

“Yes, Bilbo?”

“Please don’t change. No matter what happens.”

The fingers that had been drawing symbols on Bilbo’s palm stilled. “I cannot promise you that I won’t, only that I will try not to. Life makes us change and it isn’t something we can stop. Are you the same hobbit you were when you left home?”

Bilbo started to shake a little bit, a slight tremor in his hands that Thorin instantly picked up on because he clasped them between both of his much larger ones. “No, I’m not. I found something along the way.”

“Oh? And what would that be? Hard beds and meager suppers?”

“A dwarf. One with a terrible temper and a good heart, though he tries to hide it sometimes.”

“He sounds unpleasant.”

“Sometimes he is.” Bilbo smiled at Thorin’s grunt of annoyance. “But not usually. He cares about his people more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s strong and brave and a bit bull-headed, but I think that’s a trait most dwarves have so I don’t hold it against him.”

“That’s very kind of you and I’m sure that dwarf appreciates it.”

“He’d better because he also gives me no end of grief.”

 The warm hands around his tightened. “I’m sure he regrets that, but I’m curious how this grief would have changed you other than to make you bitter and dislike dwarves as a whole. It seems that even Thranduil managed to treat you better than we have been lately.”

“Because I love you, you clot head! I think that’s enough of a change for one adventure.”

He hadn’t meant to say anything. In fact he’d meant not to. There was no way that Thorin could ever return the sentiment and even if he did, nothing would ever come of it. He’d thought that he was content with being in his company, but that had turned into becoming lovers. Then he’d thought he could be content with that. Not so.

“I thought you should know. Just in case…well. There’s a reason I signed for funeral arrangements,” he tried to joke but it came out sounding very small and a little bit scared. He’d accepted that he might not be traveling back to the Shire this time, but to have been holding this in his heart for as long as he had and never say a word of it? His resolve had begun to wear thin somewhere around Beorn’s house when he had opened his eyes out in the flower field and found Thorin’s looking back at him. “It doesn’t matter. I just thought – “

“How does it not matter?” Thorin broke in sharply.

Bilbo jumped and tried to pull his hands back but Thorin’s grip on them tightened to the point where it made his knuckles crack. “I – I – It doesn’t! Truly! I know that nothing can come of it and I’m happy with how things are, I’m not trying to change – “

“If you didn’t want them to change, why tell me?” Thorin growled. “Look at me, Halfling.”

“I’ve told you before; I’m not a half anything!” Bilbo snapped, bringing his head up to glare at Thorin.

Whatever the king had been about to say was lost when there came several cries of pure elation from the other side of the boulder.

“Thorin! Uncle, come quick! The keyhole!” Kili bolted around to their side, his eyes so wide that the whites could be seen on all sides. He didn’t even seem to notice how tightly Thorin was holding onto their burglar so great was his excitement. “It’s here! It was _moonlight_ , Uncle!”

Thorin jolted, his grip on Bilbo’s hands loosening just enough for him to jerk them back again. “Truly?” He whispered.

“Yes, yes! Where’s the key?”

“Right here.” Bilbo drew it out of his pocket and held it up by the string so that both Durins could look on it. “I told you this wasn’t the end, didn’t I?”

Thorin slowly reached out and took the key as it spun back and forth, a light coming into his eyes. “So you did. Come, Bilbo. I would have you see this at my side.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't turn out nearly as angsty as I thought it would. Enjoy the last little bit of happiness while you can...
> 
> All credit for the idea of the holiday 'Long Night' goes to the lovely thorinsmut. You can read more about it at their story titled 'Longnight'.


	47. In the Hall of the Mountain King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

“I need a day.”

There was an instant uproar, albeit a quiet one.

“You can’t be serious – “

“A whole day? Bilbo, you need to – “

“Jus’ let somebody go with you and we’ll be able t’ keep an eye on you.”

Bilbo clenched his teeth and shoved his hands into his pockets to help him resist the urge to pull his own hair out. “I don’t need a caretaker! You brought me along to do a truly nasty job and that’s what I’m going to do. I think that I’ve proved I’m more than capable of looking after myself considering all of the scrapes I’ve gotten you lot out of. I deserve this at the very least.”

“Impossible.” Thorin’s voice silenced the rest of the company. The king had gone a few steps away from where they all stood in the mouth of the secret tunnel, Balin at his side. The two of them had seemed overcome with memories and had been speaking quietly until Bilbo announced how much time he wanted to look for the Arkenstone. “Anything could happen with that much time. You could get lost or be injured and we would have no way of knowing what had become of you.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to fall down a flight of stairs and break my back.”

“Somehow that wouldn’t surprise me.” Thorin crossed his arms mulishly and the two of them glared at each other for a long moment. “You have six hours.”

“Twenty four, Thorin. If you try to talk me into less I’ll be gone for two days instead of one.”

Dwalin made a sound like he had swallowed down the wrong tube and Oin pounded on his back as he wheezed.

“Bilbo,” Balin said softly, grasping his arm. “Let’s all try to be reasonable. You don’t know these halls and could very easily lose your way. At least with less time you won’t get as far in. Erebor is a labyrinth and folk who are unused to traveling underground tend to get a wee bit turned around.”

The hobbit took a deep, calming breath. It wasn’t fair to take his nerves out on everyone, especially when they all seemed concerned about him. It was touching to see that even the dwarves who had held on to their reservations about him seemed upset at the prospect of sending him down into the depths of Erebor. “Thank you, but I don’t plan on going very far. I just need enough time to start a proper search for the Arkenstone and if I’m worrying about how soon I need to get back I’m bound to overlook it in the rush. Besides,” he added wryly, “that should give me plenty of time to see if Smaug is still lying about somewhere.”

Most of the company shuddered at that and he saw Kili grab the bottom of his brother’s shirt. For all their eagerness to get inside the mountain and reclaim their treasure, it seemed that some had conveniently forgotten what might still guard it. Dragons were greedy with their plunder and it was unlikely that Smaug would welcome them in with open wings and an offer of tea.

“If only it was that easy,” Bilbo muttered to himself.

Not having heard that comment, Balin took a step back and looked at Thorin. “His request makes sense, Thorin. Even you have to admit it.”

“I have to admit nothing. I don’t like it.”

“What a surprise,” Bilbo muttered before raising his voice a little more. “I’m not asking you to like it – any of it. I’m just asking you to let me handle this. I was not brought along to sit idly by while the lot of you decide how to proceed.”

“But Bilbo, what if it’s dangerous?” Ori asked in a small voice as he picked at a loose thread in his mittens.

“I’ve dealt with trolls, orcs, and wargs and I’m still standing.”

“Mostly,” Dwalin muttered.

Fili patted Kili’s arm and stepped over to Thorin’s side. “Uncle, I think Bilbo has the right of it. Give him his day and if he doesn’t appear at the end of it we can go in after him. We have to at least give him a chance.”

Thorin looked practically mutinous, but faced with Bilbo’s determination and the rest of the dwarves’ agreement he was forced to give in. “Fine. You’ll have your hours and not a moment beyond. Balin, show him the way down. And Bilbo,” he said with a jab of one thick finger in his direction, “we aren’t finished yet. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that we still have unfinished business.”

No reply was forthcoming and none was expected. Beneath the curious and nerve-filled gazes of the company Bilbo turned on his boot heel and strode after Balin, who had gone ahead down the sloping tunnel that led into the heart of the mountain. He didn’t look back.

In truth he didn’t actually need a guide. He could have walked this path with his eyes shut, so many times had he done it before in his dreams. Nightmares, rather. Every nerve in his body had been alight with fear and it had burned the place into his memory as if it had been carved there with a knife. He would never forget the way he had dragged his hand along the wall to guide him into the darkness, how the cool, smooth marble had felt beneath his fingers. The smell of something like char hung in the air, faded by time but still noticeable. Balin walked ahead of him, his decorative boots make a soft clomping noise that seemed to echo all the way back to the top of the tunnel where Bilbo could still make out the faintest whispers of the company as they gathered together to watch his descent.

The moment he turned the first corner it died out.

Balin waited for him there, with his hands tucked up into the sleeves of his robe. “Well lad, here we are.”

“So it seems. I think that I can find the rest of the way on my own if you’d like to go back. I know you were talking with Thorin.”

Balin’s shoulders slumped a little bit. “Aye, that I was, but I don’t know how much he heard. Much has been on his mind of late and I think that most of it has to do with what lies in that chamber.”

“You mean the Arkenstone?” The king’s jewel that gleamed with an internal fire like ice and fire brought to life and encased in crystal. His hatred of it rivaled the Ring that sat smugly in his vest pocket. It seemed almost ironic that the two things he wished destroyed the most in the entire world were currently so close together and would no doubt end up in his hands. Sadly he was in no position to do so at the moment, so he simply swallowed his distaste and tried to act as though he didn’t know why Thorin would be dwelling on such a thing. Balin was bound to notice if any of his bitterness showed through.

“That I do. There are times that I wish it had been left hidden away in the mountain and never found its way to life. The stone has never caused anything but pain for the Durins. The seven kingdoms may have rallied around it, but I believe they are simply united in their lust for that gem.” The old dwarf shook his head, his beard waggling back and forth. “The one thing we can all rally to and it’s nothing more than a bauble.”

“You think they should be loyal to a bloodline instead?”

“I think it would make more sense than pledging themselves to a stone. I’ve seen it myself, many a time when I stood with Thrain beside his father’s throne.” Balin looked down the long hall towards where the treasure chamber lay somewhere far below them. “It is truly magnificent. But I also saw what it did to Thror and I would not wish that on anyone. The Durins are weaker than most when it comes to the temptations of gold and the Arkenstone only aggravated that terrible lust.”

“You think it will do that same thing to Thorin?”

With sadness in his eyes, Balin turned back to him. “He has a good heart. I just hope…I hope that he remembers how to use it if you manage to find the stone. I think that you’ve managed to settle him somewhat, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo was startled by that. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said cautiously. If Balin disapproved of their relationship it could damage Bilbo’s ties to one of the dwarves he considered a steadfast ally. 

“Do you not? I’ve seen Thorin smile more of late than he has in a long while and that has done my heart good. He has been a good leader when times were hard, but it wore heavy on him. You seem to make him remember how to be something other than just a king.” The old dwarf took a deep breath and straightened his robes. “No matter now. May fate be with you, Mister Baggins. You’ll need more than your fair share of luck down there.”

“I think fate has had its eye on me since I woke up and found Gandalf standing there offering me a part in an adventure.”

Balin didn’t see the irony. “Be that as it may, do take care. We would all be upset should you not return to us in a timely manner.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bilbo replied and offered Balin his hand. The dwarf gave it a firm shake before he turned to go back the way they had come and rejoin the company.

Bilbo waited.

“Oh, and Bilbo,” Balin said before he had gotten more than a handful of steps away. “Should there be an – um – a live dragon down there…”

“I won’t wake it,” Bilbo assured him. 

“Good lad.”

The lonely walk down the passage was one of the longest in Bilbo’s memory. Once Balin’s footsteps had ceased to echo he was left with only the sound of his own breathing and his heartbeat in his ears to keep him company. The elven boots had soft bottoms and were, if possible, even quieter than his bare feet would have been.

He had no plan. Not even the barest hint of one. For all his sitting and thinking in the hours before, no brilliant idea had sprung to mind or tickled at the edge of his subconscious. For almost every problem he’d encountered to this point he’d been able to count on Gandalf for help or come up with _something_. That ‘something’ hadn’t always worked out perfectly, but it had gotten them all this far at least. Gandalf wasn’t here now and it seemed that Bilbo’s wits and cunning had gone missing as well.

His tongue darted out to wet dry, cracked lips. “Do I get a third and fourth chance if this one goes poorly?” he mumbled aloud.

Probably not. Most people didn’t get a second chance (or he assumed they didn’t) to fix things, so he should consider himself very lucky indeed to find himself creeping down the familiar passage.

Somehow that didn’t make him feel much better about it.

The heat rose with every step down the sloping floor and it wasn’t long before Bilbo felt sweat beading on his forehead. He wiped his damp palms on his trousers before giving his legs a hard pinch through them.

Think! You’re supposed to be clever!

Point one – there was a dragon, a live one, snoozing in the mountain of gold that he was currently sneaking towards.

Point two – said dragon was fiendishly clever, could detect any sort of lie, and breathed copious amounts of fire.

Point three – there was no way on this green earth that Bilbo could kill that dragon. Smaug may have a weak spot, but it would be impossible for him to get close enough to stab at it. Even if he did, Sting wouldn’t do any more damage than a bee sting would to an Oliphant.

Point four – if Smaug took offense to Bilbo breaking into his hoard or to dwarves camping on the back doorstep, he would fly off in a rage and probably burn down Lake-Town and half of the mountainside for good measure.

“I can’t let him burn down the town again, but I can’t kill him either…” It seemed like a hopeless dead end. Short of –

Short of…

“Oh,” Bilbo said quietly, freezing in place with his hand braced on the warm stone wall next to him, feeling like he’d just been knocked between the eyes with the handle of one of Dwalin’s battle axes.

That might just work.

It was with renewed purpose that the hobbit started down the secret passage again. He had a day. He had a whole day to make this work and if it did…if it did work it would make a mountain’s worth of other problems but solve the ones that had been eating at his mind with jagged teeth.

By the time he reached the bottom he was nearly running and almost tipped right down the stairway that lay below him in his haste. There it was. Seeing it before didn’t lessen the impact of Erebor’s enormous wealth. Gold and jewels enough to make a hundred kingdoms wealthy were piled there. Smaug had no doubt gone through every nook and cranny of the mountain to dig it all out and then piled it here in a shimmering shrine to his own greed. The smell of metal was almost overpowering, so different from the smell of sweet summer grass or apples that Bilbo was used to that he nearly swooned where he stood. Even he wasn’t immune to its siren call. Dragon gold had a special something about it that made even the least greedy of folk want to touch it. To slip coins into their pockets as they went by. It was a trap of course – Smaug knew every piece of what he claimed as his and any who dared to make off with a single ruby would quickly find themselves snapped up and digested. Bilbo shoved his hands into his pockets and gripped the two rings there hard enough that they cut into his palm.

Hobbits had no need of treasure. He didn’t need it. He didn’t _want_ it. What he wanted was currently buried somewhere until the dully gleaming sea of coins, dreaming whatever dark things that dragons dreamed of.

The Arkenstone could stay buried at the very bottom of the hoard for all he cared. Right now he had a dragon to dig up.

Cool gold enveloped him up to his ankles the moment he stepped into the treasure. There was no way to tell how deep it was where he stood or how far he might sink into it if he started a landslide or lost his footing. It made for slow going as he picked his way up the side of the trove, using chests and golden statues as stepping stones to help him on his way. Whatever silks or furs that had been lumped in with the rest of the treasure had long since either burned or simply rotted away into dust, leaving only the stone and metal of the mountain. Hundreds of coins slid through his fingers as he climbed; trying to slip into his pockets and the tops of his boots every time he missed his footing. Rubies slipped up his coat sleeves and out through the bottom again. Emeralds and sapphires rained down on him when he stopped to rest.

How long had it been since he started his climb? An hour? Two? His request for an entire day seemed foolish now – how could he tell how long he had been gone if he had no sun or hourglass to tell him what the time was? He’d just have to rely on his stomach to tell him when it was dinner time again. Every time he stopped for a breath he would dig into the treasure under him, sending masses of it cascading back down the way he had come. So far there had been no sign of the monstrous creature that lay under all of it.

“Who would have guessed that finding a dragon the size of the Shire would be so difficult?” He asked himself aloud as he sat down on the edge of one of the huge pillars that held up the ceiling a league above him. 

With a sharp sound of metal on stone a coin landed on the marble next to him, narrowly missing his hand. It bounced three times and then landed on its edge and spun in place for a moment before falling down face-up. Bilbo stared at it, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t exactly been quiet during his climb; it seemed like a pointless effort when he wasn’t trying to sneak in.

With a hard swallow, Bilbo squared his shoulders and looked up.   

He immediately wished he hadn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it say anything that I'm chanting 'oh god oh god oh god' right now? I'll be starting the next chapter immediately, this is too much fun to stop. Sorry for being slow, I've been in a bit of an art mood lately and between that and visiting family it tends to cut into writing time. I might be drawing another spoiler picture soon, so I'll link to that if I do or you can just find it on my Tumblr. Cheers!


	48. The Hobbit's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

The first time he had any real concept of what it was to look at death and have death look back, Bilbo had been twenty two and there were three wolves standing on the front step of Bag End. The Longfoots had said that they’d seen them skulking about on the edge of town but no one had been too worried about it. Or at least not until now.

The Fell Winter had brought terrible things with it – bandits had come and orcs as well, all looking to raid the Shire and pluck both their lives and their quickly diminishing supplies from them. All of those had been either sent away with axes and machetes in their heads or been quietly burned. The ground was too covered with snow and ice for a burial. No one had expected the wolves to be as brazen as this though. Usually they kept to themselves, shy creatures that disappeared without trouble if you came across them on the road.

They weren’t on the road now. All three of them were as tall as Bilbo and their matted fur wasn’t thick enough to disguise their ribs.

In their eyes he had seen death.

Now he saw the same reflected in the cat-like pupils of Smaug’s golden eyes as the dragon stared down at him, no more than a hundred feet above him. His heart stuttered to a halt in his chest as another coin flaked off of the dragon’s armored and jewel-crusted belly. For an eternity it seemed to hang in the air, caught in time and illuminated by the orange glow of Smaug’s gaze.

It was with awed horror that the hobbit looked up at Smaug the Terrible. Orange light gleamed through the dragon’s scales as fire roiled in his great belly. This was far, far worse than finding him asleep in the treasure. This Smaug was awake and aware, and judging by the gleam in his reptilian eyes not pleased to find Bilbo snooping around in his hoard.

 _I have to be the worst burglar in all of Middle Earth,_ Bilbo admitted to himself. Smaug had ascended the pillars of the treasure chamber and now hung suspended over the riches, twined around the marble columns like a great serpent. His claws dug massive grooves into the stone, opening up wounds in it as easily as if it had been living flesh. Frozen in place like a rabbit in as snare, Bilbo could only watch as Smaug slithered down the stone above him, his long tongue tasting the air. A clawed wing plunged into the treasure as Smaug braced his monumental bulk, sending up a wave of gold and precious stones. The whole cavern seemed to rumble with the dragon’s breath and then he was so close that Bilbo could hear his scales sliding against each other.

“Well, _thief!_ ” He hissed, the stink of his breath washing over Bilbo as he shrank back against the stone behind him. Disappearing wouldn’t save him now – Smaug’s coils had him trapped on every side and diving forward would land him right in the dragon’s mouth. “You are either brave or the biggest fool who ever wandered near my mountain. It doesn’t matter which though. I eat heroes and fools alike – they all taste the same when their bones are snapping between my teeth.”

Just being near Smaug was akin to standing before a furnace that had been fed with too many logs. The collar of Bilbo’s shirt was already drenched with sweat and he could feel it trickling down his spine.  

“I-I-I’m sure!” Bilbo squeaked. “Luckily I am neither.”

“Oh?” The glow of flames in Smaug’s cavernous maw seemed to dim somewhat. “Neither a hero nor a fool? Well then, I would know your self-styled title before I eat you. And do not say ‘ordinary’ since that would make you a liar. I detest liars as much as thieves. None have breached this place before and that alone makes you worthy of my interest.”

Cautiously Bilbo managed to get his feet under him again and stood, keeping his hands pressed flat to the pillar behind him. He was well and truly caught in the dragon’s gaze and he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. Dragons could easily hypnotize with their voices and the more a dragon knew about you, the more control he had over what you did. Smaug was a powerful and old dragon and Bilbo knew that if he wasn’t careful he would fall under his spell and be lost forever.

“No, I wouldn’t say ordinary. I’m too old to have such a low opinion of my own worth, though that value might be minimal in your eyes, oh Smaug the Magnificent.”

“You speak prettily enough for a thief. You seem to know my name but I have not heard yours! Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?” Smaug turned his head with that and observed Bilbo with an eye that was as big as the hobbit was tall.

In all of existence Bilbo was certain that no fiercer creature had ever existed than Smaug. Trolls, goblins, and even orcs were nothing more than hissing kittens next to his might. Thorin was a fool to think that Azog was his true adversary. If he had known what really slept on top of his birthright he would have turned tail and decided that the Shire was a lovely place to retire and coveted nothing more than silver spoons.

“I have been called many names,” Bilbo admitted, gathering up the shreds of his courage. “Not all of them were strictly complimentary, I’ll admit. But there was one that I grew quite fond of and that I think you’ll find interesting enough to keep me alive for at least one more minute before you eat me.”

“Oh? And what name would that be, thief? I’ll have my curiosity satisfied.”

Bilbo’s eyes rose to meet Smaug’s. It was time to weave his own spell. “Twice Born.”

The dragon’s head retreated and he threw it back and laughed so loudly that dust and small stones rained from the ceiling. “Twice Born! Ha! A lovely title indeed.”

“It does sound a bit pretentious, but remains accurate all the same. Would you satisfy my own curiosity, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities? Just one question before I take my leave of this world on the tips of your marvelous teeth. I imagine it has been some time since you’ve had any sort of conversational partner.”

“Only the ravens, gossipy creatures. They bring me news of what goes on outside of these walls and through them I know when the hunting is good and what else transpires in the world. For example,” he said slyly, “I know that a company of dwarves has been making their way to the mountain. Intending to come and knock on the front door perhaps?”

 _More like the secret door_ , Bilbo thought to himself. The front door would have been suicide.

“Perhaps, but my question had nothing to do with ravens or dwarves.”

Smaug snorted and a puff of smoke came out of his nostrils. “Ask your question before I decide that you aren’t nearly as interesting as your title makes you out to be.”

“Yes, of course. I was simply wondering that since the songs and tales that the men sing of your size and strength fall utterly short of reality, if you had the powers that they say you do.”

Smaug’s coils loosed as the dragon slithered deeper into the treasure, his head momentarily disappearing as he swam through it as easily as if it had been water. When he surfaced again, it was in a shower of gems and the musical ringing of loose coins. “Powers, you say? I have a dragon’s magic, as all my kind do. It lies over my hoard.” Smaug caught a golden cup between his claws and let it dangle there. “Every piece of it. The most pious man would look on it and lust, for it belongs to me and my spell lies over it. I know every piece. It sings in my veins, in my heart. Is this the power you speak of?”

It was the same cup. The same one that he’d stolen from before to prove to the company that he could be a proper burglar and that Smaug had missed when he rolled over in his sleep. That night the sides of the mountain had burned and the wastes rung with cries of ‘thief!’.   

“It is not, though that’s a formidable power. I feel it even now, tempting me to fill my pockets and run as quickly as I can. If would be hopeless though,” he added when Smaug’s lips peeled back to reveal his teeth. “Since you would easily catch someone as small and slow as me.”

“The only thing that would make me pause was deciding whether to crush you beneath my claws or set you alight with the fire in my breast.”

“I’m not sure I’m ensured for being stepped on, so if you do decide to kill me I’d prefer the flames. The power I was referring to was the ability to detect lies. Is it true that you possess such an astonishing ability, O Smaug the Glorious?”

“You have an eloquent tongue for one so small. Perhaps I will save it and cover it in silver to remember the flattery it paid me.” The cup went clattering away, lost among the rest of the treasure. “But as for your impertinent question, yes, I do possess that ability though it has been a long while since I have had an occasion to employ it. Why,” he growled. “Do you intend to put it to the test? Do you think that you can deceive one such as me and still escape with your miserable life?”

“No, no!” Bilbo cried, throwing out his hands in an effort to placate the dragon as it swung around the pillars and glared at him, fire boiling up in its throat and making the temperature in the whole chamber rise. “Please, use it! I do not seek to lie to you, Smaug the Triumphant, conqueror of the Lonely Mountain.”

“Cease with your gilded words, I’ve had enough of them from you. Either come up with something more creative or I’ll consider this conversation over and my supper begun.”

“Creative?” Bilbo repeated. “You’ve had naught but ravens to listen to chatter for longer than I’ve been alive. Can you spare me a few hours of your time to tell you my tale? I promise that you’ll find it worth your precious time.” The hobbit threw open his arms, his tattered coat hanging from arms gone thin from poor meals and hard travels. “Am I lying when I say that it matters? That it matters to you in particular?”

From out of the darkness Smaug came in again, his crested head flared wide as he inhaled. “No,” he finally said begrudgingly. “I would smell it if you were. You sweat and fear; the very scent of blood changes when you lie.”

“So you will know if I speak falsely. Please, let me tell you my story,” he begged. “If you don’t like it when I’m finished you can…you can eat me. I won’t even complain about it. I guarantee you’ve never had anything quite like me.”

“I may eat you even if I like your tale. Keep this in mind while you talk and then I’ll decide whether you really were worth my attention.”

Bilbo couldn’t hold in his shriek as Smaug caught him up in one of his claw-tipped wings and lifted him up off his perch on the foot of the pillar. Before he could do more than have a very short panic attack about whether he was going to be dropped and promptly stepped on, he was set down again. This time it was atop a broken pillar, so far above the sea of gold that he would have surely broke both of his legs if he attempted to jump down. He was a sitting duck as far as Smaug was concerned.

“I wasn’t going to run!” He called up as Smaug scratched at the gold with his wings until he’d made himself a comfortable little hollow to settle down in, reminding Bilbo very much of a cat kneading at a blanket until it was just _so_.

“I’m simply making things easier on both of us. You won’t have the chance to change your mind about your resolve and I won’t have to chase you down when you do. Now tell me your story, Twice Born.”  

With the dragon so close Bilbo shrugged out of his coat and spread it on the broken rock underneath him. He didn’t need it with as hot as Smaug was and didn’t feel like having to stop halfway through to divest himself of it. It made for an adequate enough blanket for him to sit on and he fingered the edges of the scars that showed over the top of his boot as he looked at Smaug.

“It began long ago. Or maybe it wasn’t so long, depending on how you look at time. I was sitting on my front step when who should come knocking but a wizard? Up to this point I had been a perfectly normal creature and wasn’t fond of venturing out very far beyond my own front door, but before I knew what was happening I found myself whisked off into the wild without so much as a handkerchief in my front pocket…”

And so Bilbo told his story. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note - after this chapter I'll be messing with the canon in all sorts of ways. Since this is a do-over fic you probably knew what you were getting into when you started, but please suspend your disbelief for a while longer if you can. It'll make for a fun story, I promise.


	49. The Purpose of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mild Violence

Like a spell Bilbo wove his story. He could not hope to compare to the hypnotic quality of Smaug’s voice but he knew that he was an adequate enough storyteller to hold on to the dragon’s attention for a few hours at the very least. With Smaug warmth at his front and his coat tucked under him as a makeshift cushion he could almost imagine that he was safely tucked away in his living room at Bag End with a fire crackling merrily in the hearth and a pack of fauntlings lounging on the rug around him, hanging on his every word as he told them about his adventures.

Smaug, for all that he was an attentive listener, was no hobbit fauntling. When Bilbo described the rolling hills he had crossed over on his journey (he was careful not to mention the Shire by name - that wouldn’t have been at all wise) Smaug had laughed and mentioned how fine the grass-fed ponies and cattle from that side of the world tasted when they were properly roasted. The dragon also had a bad habit of spitting and growling whenever Bilbo mentioned the dwarves (also not by name, only as his traveling companions). That had stopped after Bilbo threatened to stop talking entirely if he didn’t mind his manners.

“Dragons have no need of manners,” Smaug had replied irritably from his bed of coin. “We simply eat all those who dare to criticize them.”

“If you want to hear what I have to say, you’ll won’t scoff and interrupt me every time I mention dwarves _or_ eat me. Didn’t your mother teach you that it was rude to do that?”

“My mother was out burning elven ships and terrorizing entire armies before your kind was even a gleam in your Maker’s eye. Continue.”

So Bilbo told him about the trolls and being shoved into smelly sacks. He told him about being chased by orcs and wargs across the plains and taking shelter with the elves. About the giants in the Misty Mountains. Somewhere between Goblin Town (with no mention of the Ring that lay snuggly in his pocket) and being caught up in the pine trees on the cliff, Smaug seemed to settle down. He stretched both of his wings and yawned before settling his head down on top of his tail, golden eyes half-closed, the fire in them banked.

It was unquestionably odd to talk to a dragon like this, Bilbo decided. After all, it was a well-known fact that dragons were clever creatures who loved riddles and sideway talk, and he supposed that in the end his story really was just one big puzzle for Smaug to solve, but the dragon seemed to actually be enjoying listening to him talk.

Maybe he was just starved for intelligent conversation, though the ‘intelligent’ part was questionable since Bilbo doubted many people would happily found themselves in his position.

Belladonna would have thought it was a roaring good time, no pun intended.

At least once he’d gotten properly comfortable Smaug was a nearly perfect audience. Bilbo learned to tell when he was smiling by how many teeth he was showing and when he was irritated or displeased by how the steam that was seeping out of his nostrils turned black. The dragon flat out laughed when Bilbo described cramming the dwarves into barrels to escape from the elves and how they had come out resembling half-drowned feral dogs.

“It’s a shame you let them out again. I would not have mourned to have fewer dwarves left in this world. They don’t even have the grace to be good eating – they taste like the stone that they spend their lives grubbing about in. No real flavor to be had.”  

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Bilbo said mildly. “I’ve never tasted dwarf before, or at least not in the manner you mean.”

“Ah, so you’ll let them into your bed but not onto your plate?” Smaug sneered.

“It doesn’t sound like you were happy to have them on your plate either,” he pointed out to turn the dragon’s attention away from his hypothetical sleeping partners.

“I’d like to see you eat a thousand of the filthy things without losing your taste for them. I was washing my mouth out with pig and deer blood for a year.” He opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out for a moment to illustrate his distaste for the flavor of dwarf.

Bilbo noted that the slimy tongue was a rather alarming shade of blue that he had never seen before except when he indulged in too many blue or blackberries. It felt like a very long time ago since he had last done such a thing and suddenly he felt more than a little bit homesick for the lush, rolling fields of the Shire. It had probably snowed at least once by now and the ponds and creeks would be frozen over. Icicles that glittered like the diamonds that adorned Smaug’s belly would be hanging in every window.

“But no matter. There are no dwarves left in my mountain to ruin my appetite. I’ve driven them out. Unless you’ve brought some along with you?” The dragon asked slyly, stretching out his neck so that he could peer at where Bilbo sat. “Secreted them in the same way that you managed to? I’m sure I could do away with my dislike for their taste for long enough to snap up a handful more.”

“They aren’t in your mountain, O Smaug the Mighty. Just me.”

Smaug growled and laid his head back down. “Truth. Now continue with your story or else I might grow bored and decide that I don’t need to hear the end of it after all.”

“You’ll want to hear it,” Bilbo said, finally taking off his boots entirely because they were pinching his toes. “The dwarves of Erebor hate you more than anything else in this world, you know. You stole their home, their treasure, and their families from them and I don’t think they could ever forgive you for that.”

“What forgiveness do I need from dwarves? Does a cat ask forgiveness when it digs into an anthill? That is all you or any of them are to me – ants. You may be a momentary distraction as something to bat around and entertain me for a moment as you are now, but in the end you are all insects to me. Insignificant.”

“But fire ants can take down a cat if they have a mind to. The dwarves I was traveling with intend to take their mountain back from you and if they can stand on your body when they do they’ll be all the happier for it.”

“Are you threatening me, Twice Born?”

“Simply stating the facts,” Bilbo said, giving himself a hard pinch. It wasn’t wise to bait a dragon, even one who was so outwardly complacent. A single hiccup from Smaug and he would be nothing more than a soot mark on the stone and he wouldn’t be doing anyone any good like that. “It was shortly after that that I met the master of the mountain. He was a fire drake, a huge dragon from the north and I had never seen anything like him before.”

Smaug snorted with laughter. “And went tromping about in his hoard and made quite a racket before being handily captured.”

Bilbo made a small noise. “Ah, no. Not quite, I’m afraid.”

Smaug rose off of his nest and dug his claws into the stone that Bilbo sat on. “Do not lie to me! I know this to be true, I watched you do so myself! Unless there is another dragon dwelling in these halls that has somehow avoided my attention.”

“There has only ever been one dragon in the mountain and I’ve met him twice!” Bilbo shouted back, climbing to his feet to face down Smaug. Fire was singing in his blood now, hot and fierce. “Taste my words and you’ll find they ring with only truth! I’ve met you before this day, Smaug! There’s a _reason_ I’m called Twice Born. I came into your halls before and I crept about as quietly as you please. I coveted your treasure and stole from you a golden cup while you slept.”  

Flames billowed out of Smaug’s maw, pouring around the broken pillar, scorching the stone as Smaug roared with fury. “Thief! I should have eaten you the moment I saw you creeping about!”

“I’m not a thief!” Bilbo cried. “Not this time! I want nothing of yours, not a single coin! You could offer me this entire mountain and all of its contents on a golden platter and I would have nothing to do with it!”

The fire died, though Smaug’s face remained twisted by a snarl. “So have you come again to gaze upon my majesty? Did I kill you the first time and you have come for revenge? Speak! Finish your story so that I may finish you!”

In history there had been brave hobbits. Not many, but a few. Some fought in great battles or defeated mighty foes. In that moment however, there had never before been a braver hobbit than Bilbo as he stepped up to the edge of the stone pillar and looked upon the raging dragon, only inches away from his eyes and his teeth.

“When I came to Erebor the first time, I came as a thief. I was hired and treated as such. In my innocence I thought that I could steal from a dragon and not suffer any sort of consequences. We have met before, Smaug. We spoke and I hid from your wrath with a fear in my heart that was so great I doubt I will ever forget it.”

“And yet you still return a second time? You are indeed a fool.”

“Perhaps I am,” Bilbo conceded. “But this time I will not make the same foolish mistakes. I was brought back to save the line of Durin from being slain in battle but there is another death that I carry with me. I’ve come to tell you of how you fell, Smaug the Terrible, with an arrow in your heart.”

The mountain exploded in a violent shower of gold and dragon fire. The heat was so intense that Bilbo fell to his knees in a swoon as Smaug thrashed, his claws tearing at the stone, his wings beating the stale air so fiercely that it created a whirlwind of smoke and flames. “I would not fall to such a thing; there is no man on this earth who could defeat me! I am fire!” His teeth snapped shut right in front of Bilbo’s nose. “I am death!”

Bilbo surged back to his feet. “And your body lay at the bottom of the Long Lake, you great rude serpent! To be picked at by the fish while men dove down to pluck coins from your breast! _You will listen to me or you will die again!_ ”

“I’ll slay every living creature from here to Mordor! They will all burn! I will not – “

“You will! It has been written in fate and I don’t know if even I can save you from it! The dwarves hate you. The men fear you. You have no allies in this world and no one who would grieve to see you dead!” Bilbo’s hair billowed around his head, lifted up into a halo by the heat. “No one but me, and unless you cease your blustering I’ll let you go charging out there to perish again!”

Before he could dove out of the way, Smaug had caught him up again in his claws, lifting him up high, higher than before. His grip was so tight that Bilbo could feel his ribs creaking in protest. “And what of my children, Twice Born?! Speak the truth and tell me what became of them after I fell!”

“C-children?” Bilbo repeated, his fingers digging fruitlessly at Smaug’s scaled hand. He yelped as Smaug whirled about and then they were moving again. The dragon plunged into the gold and plowed through it, Bilbo only barely kept above the treasure by Smaug’s grip. Even so it sprayed up at him and he gasped with pain as his cheek was sliced open by something sharp, narrowly missing his left eye. “Stop! Stop!” He cried, trying without luck to protect himself.   

Just before he thought he was going to be battered to death, Smaug halted. They had come to the very furthest corner of the treasure chamber, in a place where almost no light could reach. The treasure was deepest there, where it had been piled up high against the wall. Bilbo was unceremoniously dropped and instantly lost his footing and went tumbling head over heels until Smaug caught him by the back of his coat.

“My children! What became of them in this life of yours!” The dragon set him down again and nudged him forward with a claw, causing Bilbo to topple forward.

He caught himself on a pile of gold and this time the treasure did not give way beneath his hands. It was warm. Very nearly hot. In awe he let his hand trail over the softly rounded shape of it, slipping his fingers between the coins and touching the membrane beneath them. “You have eggs,” he breathed. “Baby dragons…”

“My children,” Smaug rumbled, sweeping aside more treasure to reveal two more eggs identical to the first that Bilbo was leaning against. They were very large, the size of small boulders, and every inch of them was crusted with coins and small gems. “The last of the great drakes of the north.”

“They're _beautiful_ ,” Bilbo whispered, his eyes wide as he stroked the one closest to him. He fancied he could feel something warm shifting underneath his hands. “Do they have soft shells? Is that what the gold is for?”

Smaug snorted in agreement as he lay down next to his clutch, using his nose to push the eggs closer together. “Without it they would be easily crushed or pierced. No dragon can breed without a hoard to protect their children with, they would never survive. When they are born they will be soft, scaleless. My treasure will provide that until they can grow their own.”

“So you needed the gold from Erebor!” Bilbo said in astonishment. “But you’re an old, powerful dragon! Why didn’t you have a hoard already?”  

“I did. I was born and raised in the Withered Heath, as you would call it. I amassed a treasure greater than any other and used it to tempt my mate to my side. She was a cold drake, with scales like diamonds and a breath that could bring down snow. She bore six eggs for me before she was slain by dwarves while out hunting.” A growl echoed through the chamber and Bilbo took a hasty step away from Smaug’s clutch. “I slaughtered them in return and planned to raise my children in our den, protected by my riches.”

 _He only has three eggs now,_ Bilbo realized. “What happened?”

Smaug was silent. The only sound was his deep breaths and the occasional metal chime of coins spilling around them. “Fire and blood.” He finally said. “My home was in a deep cave, some long-abandoned place made by dwarves no doubt. The tunnels went deeper than even I cared to explore and something awoke in one of them, when the darkness came. A Balrog who had slumbered there longer than I had.”

The menace in Smaug’s voice made Bilbo shiver.

“He was no match for me,” the dragon continued. “I would not let him rise and he took offense to it. I destroyed him, but not before he had melted my treasure with his dark fire and smashed three of my eggs. He wounded me as well.” He tilted onto his side and showed Bilbo where the hole in his belly was. “Right before I tore his head from his body and cast his corpse down into the tunnels from which he had risen he stabbed me with his infernal sword and broke my armor. Wounded and with half of my children dead and then other half left unprotected with no treasure, I was desperate. I turned south.”

“To Erebor.”

“Yes. Even I had doubts of my success. It is one thing to steal treasure from the dwarves, but another thing entirely to take their kingdom. If it was an easy thing, another would have done it long before. I succeeded though. I drove out the dwarves and claimed their treasure as my own. That very night I took my remaining eggs and buried them here.” The dragon extended one of his wings over his clutch and let it rest on top of them. “Soon they will hatch. Another year. Five at the most. And you,” he said, his attention snapping back to Bilbo. “Will tell me what became of them in your first life. Then I will decide what to do with you and that pack of dwarves you traveled with.”

Bilbo felt like everything he’d ever planned on or thought he’d known had just been dropped rather hard on its head. With his ribs screaming at him to just sit down for a moment, he picked his way back to Smaug’s eggs and ducked under the dragon’s wing to touch them again. “I never would have thought – I mean, everyone knows that dragons love gold, but I never thought – oh, look at them…” He sighed. Really, there was no way to stop his heart from softening. He’d always had a weakness for children, whether they were hobbits or not. These three eggs would hatch some day and probably be terrors of Middle Earth, but for now they were warm and safe and nestled under the protective wing of the most powerful dragon in the world.

“They’re perfect,” he told Smaug when the dragon twisted his head around to watch Bilbo coo over his eggs.

“Of course they are,” Smaug replied, though it was clear that he was pleased with Bilbo’s admiration. “Tell me what you know of them, Twice Born.”

“Truly, I knew nothing of them. I left not long after the dwarves had reclaimed the mountain. I decided it wasn’t somewhere that I could ever be happy.” Not with so many dead and the rest of the company more concerned with their mountain and its riches than with keeping up their friendship with a hobbit. In the end only Balin had ever come to visit him in Bag End. “I can only assume that once the dwarves discovered them they would have destroyed them. They hate you so much; I can’t imagine they would have kept your eggs around.”

Beside him Smaug growled. “They will not touch them while I draw breath.”

“You can’t protect them if you’re dead,” Bilbo reminded him. “You weren’t drawing many breathes at the bottom of the lake.”

The dragon just grunted. “It seems I owe you a debt for this. For my life and my children’s. In return I will let you leave with your own and you will be grateful for it,” he said shortly.

“And if I want more?” Bilbo asked tentatively, with his hands still pressed against the warm gold-coated egg.

“What more do you want, Twice Born? Shall I rip open the front gates and welcome the dwarves of the mountain back in with open wings? They would try to kill us both – me for daring to take it from them and you for thinking to spare me.”

Bilbo stayed quiet.

“I will not give it back,” Smaug snapped. “I won it from them and now its treasures are mine to do with as I please.”

“I never said they weren’t! But just think – if there were dwarves in the mountain they could keep mining and crafting new treasures to add to your hoard. You would be the only dragon in the world to claim that honor.”

“And I would sleep with one eye open for fear they would smash my eggs,” Smaug snapped. “Besides, they spend gold as quickly as they mine it.”

“Who better to watch over that spending than a dragon? You said yourself that you know every piece in this chamber. There would never be a thief in Erebor again with you to guard its wealth. Who knows,” he shrugged. “They might even craft a golden statue of you in the entry if some sort of alliance could be reached.”

It was the dragon’s turn to be quiet.

“You have your life.” Bilbo turned to look at the eye next to him. “You have your children. Now I’m offering you all of the wealth of Erebor to keep. All you have to do is put up with some dwarves and you already said that you don’t like how they taste.”

Smoke seeped from Smaug’s nose. “You presume much to speak for a race that you are not a part of. You are not a dwarf, nor are you a man or an elf. What makes you think that any of them will honor any agreement you make with me?”

“I don’t know if they will, but if they’re smart they will. A kingdom with a dragon to watch over it is much better than a kingdom without. I would have you as an ally, Smaug the Magnificent.”

“Cease with your flattery,” Smaug grumbled. “I am finished with it for the moment. I must think on what you have told me before I make any sort of agreement.”

It was understandable and Bilbo decided not to keep pressing on that subject. “Until then, might I ask one more favor from you?”

Smaug’s pupil thinned. “Your stretch your luck rather thin, Twice Born.”

“I figure that I’ll stretch it until it snaps. It’s gotten me this far and I’m still alive.”

“What is your favor?” Smaug sighed. It seemed that the dragon had finally let go of his temper. Now he sounded as tired as Bilbo felt.

“You remember that group of dwarves I was telling you about?”

**"Smaug and Scatha" by[Marie Jacquelyn](http://mariejacquelyn.tumblr.com/post/84264553991/scatha-came-to-the-withered-heath-scatha-scourge/)**

 

**Art by[stuffdone](http://stuffdone.tumblr.com/post/107213418702/proud-daddy-club-a-bit-of-fanart-for-the/)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of canon-changes in this chapter! There's going to be more before the fic is over, so get used to it. Hope that you enjoyed my twist on Smaug's story!
> 
> Want to read more about Smaug and his mate? Check out ['Scatha'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1561661/) by thorinsmut!


	50. Sweet Little Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

There was blood on his face and a coin in his pocket as Bilbo made his way back across the mountain of treasure to the secret tunnel. By dwarf standards it wasn’t more than a penny. In the Shire it would have bought him a nice fat fish, some vegetables to cook with it, and three full-sized horses to help him carry it home. But it wasn’t a golden cup and it wasn’t the Arkenstone, so it was good enough for him. It would have to be enough to satisfy the company as well. Smaug had flicked it at him when he asked for a token, commenting that that he wouldn’t miss one coin out of a hundred million as much as he would a goblet.

With the promise that he would return it as soon as he was able, Bilbo had trotted off and left Smaug draped across his eggs, warming them with the heat of his orange-lit belly.

It had taken him a frustratingly long time to find his way back. Dwarven architecture was very unlike hobbit, where one unique room flowed into another through open doorways. The folk who had built Erebor seemed to favor similarity to the point where it was difficult for Bilbo to tell which way was ‘back’. Every staircase and pillar was perfectly identical. Eventually he came up with the idea to follow the trench that Smaug had plowed back the way he had come. After that it didn’t take him long to get his bearings.

What caused him the most grief on the return journey, even more than the dark and the ever-shifting footing, was his lack of shoes. Never would he have guessed that he would miss the dratted things, but now that they were lying forgotten on top of the broken pillar he realized how much they’d been protecting his tender foot. At least he’d had the sense to grab his coat before Smaug had carried him off, but it did nothing to save him from wincing every time he stepped on a sharp-edged diamond or sank up to his ankles in the cold coins. If he had the chance to later he would have to retrace his steps and find them again just to save himself the pain of traveling without them.

“Boots are the least of your concerns right now,” he scolded himself as he rounded a pile of gold that was three times as tall as he was, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor in front of him so that he wouldn’t take an unexpected tumble. “Right now you just need to – oof!”

“Bilbo!”

“Fili!”

“I tried to stop him!” Ori wailed.

“Nice scratch you’ve got there, Baggins. Up you get,” said Nori as he offered Bilbo his hand and pulled the stunned hobbit to his feet.  

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo asked shrilly, trying to contain the wave of panic that was rising up in his gut at the sight of the three dwarves in front of him. “I’m sure that it hasn’t been a day yet!”

“F-Fili wanted to check on you,” Ori said, trying to shrink behind Nori. “I tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen!”

"The dragon, Bilbo! The dragon took you! We saw you yelling at him and then he carried you away and we thought you dead." Fili, clearly thrilled to see Bilbo back, grabbed the hobbit's shoulders as if to assure himself that he wasn't seeing things. "How did you escape? Did you kill him?"

“I-I didn’t,” Bilbo said. “He let me go.”

Nori looked suspicious. Fili was only confused, demonstrating that he had inherited his intelligence from the Durin side of the family. "Let you go? But dragons never let go that which they have taken. Everyone knows that."

"Have you ever met a dragon to prove it? Let’s just say that I'm very persuasive." Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. Already his brilliant plan was crumbling because of these confounded dwarves and their inability to listen to the simplest of orders. All they'd had to do was 'stay' and they hadn't been able to manage that.

"An' a dragon's voice is laced with foul magic." Nori tossed out. "They can make you do anythin’ if you fall under its spell. What did it say to you Bilbo?"

"Nothing! I'm just trying to - " By all that was green, what could he say to them? Ori knew about his history but Nori and Fili were both more skeptical dwarves and seemed to have a deeper dislike of the dragon than Ori.

"It doesn't matter, can we please just go?" The scribe begged, tugging on Nori's sleeve. "What if it comes back?"

"Will it come back?" Fili looked nervously towards the darkness behind them. "Would he suspect your return? Maybe we could kill him now!"

"No! No, you can't kill him!" Bilbo cried in alarm. Not that they'd be able to, but if they tried any hope of an alliance with the dragon would go up in a puff of smoke and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do anything about it. "He isn't going to eat you - he doesn't like the taste of dwarf."

"He's in Thorin's mountain," Nori started. "He killed the dwarves of Erebor, drove us out into the wild an' we can't kill him now to take back what is ours? Ye didn't talk about nothin' up there. What lies did the dragon catch you up with?" Nori stepped forward and moved Fili aside so he could grab Bilbo's shoulder. The thief’s shrewd eyes bore into him as if he was trying to sense the dragon’s corruption inside of him.

"They weren't lies! He's suffered as much as you have, but nobody but me is going to take the time to know that!" He jerked back out of Nori's hold, ignoring the squeak from Ori. "And none of you are going to tell _anyone_ that he's still here. As far as you're concerned, the dragon is dead and his body is buried under this ridiculous treasure."

Fili was starting to look as nervous as Ori. Nori was already reaching the end of his patience. "He's suffered? How?" Nori was naturally suspicious but Bilbo had found that the thief didn’t immediately jump to conclusions without first gleaning as many details as he could. "An' if we don't tell the others, what's stopping him from killing our families when we march them in here?"

"I'm what's stopping him," Bilbo snapped. When the dwarves continued to regard him with suspicion, Bilbo tugged at his hair in frustration. "One day I'm going to find something hard enough to get through the thick skulls of dwarves. Listen," he pleaded with Nori while Fili and Ori looked on. "I've dealt with dragons before. There's the possibility of an alliance with this one - all he wants is the treasure and to be left alone, but sharing isn't out of the question! I just need the chance to make this happen!"

"When have you dealt with dragons?" Nori, who had had traveled far in every direction of Middle Earth, had never seen a dragon before and seemed insulted that Bilbo could make such an outlandish claim considering his young age.

Cornered. Bilbo swiped at the blood on his cheek and looked down at his curly toes. It was finally starting to grow back a little bit on his hurt foot, though it was as short as Kili’s whiskers. "A long time ago. On another quest in a different life."

"What?" Fili’s question echoed alongside Nori's.

Bilbo looked over at Fili when Ori wouldn't meet his eye, his heart as heavy as a stone in his chest. "I've met Smaug before. Talked to him. I've done it all before and I did it wrong. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I just didn't want you to think -”

He could practically hear the questions circling about and they were written plain as day on both Fili's and Nori's faces. "Think what?" Fili asked first. "What are you talking about?"

Bilbo stepped up close to the prince and grasped his arm. "I knew you before you knocked on my front door, Fili."

"But I don't remember ever meeting you."

"You wouldn't, because it never happened. I died an old, sad hobbit and was offered the chance to change history." He smiled bitterly and let his hand fall. "I haven't been doing a very good job of it so far."

"Change - you mean you're," Nori, with all his traveling and experience with different lore, seemed to have a better idea of what Bilbo spoke of than the prince. Fili was still grasping to understand and only looked more and more conflicted as the seconds passed. Ori was suddenly very interested in a stain on the hem of his tunic.

"I don't know what dwarves call it. I spoke with Lord Elrond about it and he had heard about it before, so I can't be the only one," Bilbo pleaded with the thief.

Nori looked at each face in turn before he nodded to Bilbo. "Elves call it 'Twice Born' right? We call it _Yothurur Harâm_."

Fili whipped his head around fast enough to smack himself in the face with the clasps on his beard. "What? _Yothurur Harâm_? Bilbo you're really-?"

The hobbit nodded miserably. "And I'm trying to fix everything that went wrong. I don't want - " He choked. "I can't let it happen again..."

"Let what happen?" Fili was pressing for something that the hobbit wasn’t ready to give. "Bilbo? Why didn't you tell us? We could have..." The prince trailed off he realized he could be stepping into dangerous waters.

"Could have what?" Bilbo pressed. "Done more than I did myself? Used me like some sort of book or map? Blamed me every time something went wrong? Changed things so much that I had no hope of ever predicting what might come next?"

Nori stepped in and saved the young prince before he drowned himself. "No. You've helped us get this far and everyone thanks you for it. Who else knew?"

"Ori did," Bilbo said truthfully, knowing that Nori was one of the people he needed on his side. Lying to him wouldn’t benefit anyone. "Since Mirkwood when he caught me talking to Thranduil to bargain for our release. Gandalf does, Lord Elrond, Smaug. I don't know who else might suspect, but I've tried to be careful."

Two pairs of eyes landed on Ori. The journal wasn't big enough for the scribe to completely hide behind, but he made a good attempt of it. "It was supposed to be a secret," he whispered.

"You believed it would keep us all safe?" The elder Ri set a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You believe him?"

Ori turned wide eyes up at his older brother. "Yes. I don't think he would ever hurt us, even with the...even with the dragon."

There was a long stretch of silence. Fili was left to fidget, to open and close his fingers around open air. Kili was not there for him to confide in, not in the way that Ori had Nori

Finally, after leaving Bilbo to squirm for a painfully long time, Nori inclined his head. "Right then. If you think it’s best.” It was Ori that Nori trusted, and through him Bilbo, but he would take it all the same.

Bilbo felt the tension in him unwind a little bit. "I wasn't going to tell anyone about Smaug. I have a few things I need to deal with before that and Thorin won't like it. In fact, I expect that he'll be furious about it and I'd like to put that off as long as possible."

"So we can't tell the others?" Fili looked torn and Bilbo knew that he was thinking about Kili.

"No." The hobbit's voice grew firm again. "There's still too much at risk. The dragon is content to let us in for now and stay quiet but that won't last forever."

"So we just tell them he's dead under all this?" Coins jingled as Nori pushed them around with the toe of his boot. It was probably the fact that Smaug was still lurking about that was keeping the thief from slipping a few into his hidden pockets. Stealing from a live dragon was practically a death wish.

"You don't say anything. Let me do the talking or I'll put a pinecone in your bedroll."

"Then what do we say when they ask?” Fili said fretfully, spitting out the bead on his mustache that he’d been rolling between his teeth. “Kili knows I was coming down here."

“So tell him you stopped at the bottom of the tunnel and met me there. And don't give me that look," he warned the prince. "It's a white lie."

Thankfully Fili didn't get to argue because Nori grabbed him and turned him around so he could steer the young prince back towards the passage. "Then tha’s settled. Come on you lot, I don't fancy a dragon on us."

Bilbo couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, half expecting to see Smaug's massive head resting on top of the gold with steam curling out of his nostrils as he watched them. He wasn't, but there was still a sense of urgency to their steps as the four of them hastened back towards the secret tunnel.

“There was a storm,” Ori told him quietly as they followed in the footsteps of Fili and Nori. “It came up not long after you’d gone down and we all had to come inside or else be blown right off the mountain. There was lightning and everything and Bofur thought for sure that the thunder was actually the dragon and that he’d eaten you. I guess his talk got to Fili because he tried to sneak off the minute everyone started settling down to sleep.”

“Bofur wasn’t wrong about the dragon,” Bilbo said quietly as they climbed up the long staircase to the tunnel. “I suppose the sound of the storm covered it up for the most part, but there were a few moments where I thought he was going to bring down the whole chamber with his shouting and fire. I’m lucky he didn’t set me alight on accident.”

The scribe nodded, fiddling with the bound edge of his journal. “More of us wanted to come but Thorin said no, since you asked us to wait and all. So we were just going to go down to the bottom and wait for you to come back. Then we heard – and saw – it was horrible, Bilbo. I was positive that you were dead and Fili wanted to rush right after you but Nori said not to or else we might be eaten too.”

“Settle down, Ori. There’s nothing that can be done about it now.” Nothing but hope that the dwarves would be able to listen to sense and keep their mouths shut once they reached the others. Expecting Fili to keep this secret from his brother was a long shot and the prince was eternally loyal to his uncle.

If Thorin discovered that he hoped to harbor Smaug in Erebor…it didn’t bear thinking about.

They hadn’t been walking for more than a minute or two when Bilbo realized that he could hear the thunder echoing down the passage. It did indeed sound very much like Smaug’s roar, enough so that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He may not have had the dragon’s animosity, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t petrified of him. Fear was healthy when it came to dealing with dragons.

The dwarves had indeed taken shelter from the elements in the mouth of the secret passage. Outside the rain and sleet mix was soaking the mountainside and leaking through the open door, dampening the stone and making everything cold and wet. A couple of birds had hopped in as well and were milling about away from the company, a couple of crows and a fat thrush.

Everyone was ecstatic to see him back again in one piece. Bofur had to sit down, so great was his relief, because he’d been certain all they were going to get back of their burglar was a crispy piece of his waistcoat.

“Yes well,” Bilbo said with a laugh. “I don’t suppose that would have been very useful to anyone so I did my best to avoid it.”

“Not entirely,” Oin grumbled as he dug into his pack for a bandage and a bottle of strong-smelling spirits to wipe the hobbit’s face down with. “Much more of this and we won’t have anything left to send back to your little house.”

“I fell and cut my – ouch!” He yelped. Whatever was in Oin’s concoction burned like acid.

“You’ll let me see to it or you’ll end up resemblin’ Dwalin.”

Dwalin roared with laughter from where he was leaning against the passage wall next to Thorin. “He wouldn’t be half so pretty if his face was all scarred up.”

“Still prettier than all of you put together,” Bilbo sniffed as Oin finished cleaning his face.

“What did you find down there, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked. There was a coolness to his voice that Bilbo knew he took on when he was speaking as a king rather than a friend. “Clearly not a dragon or you would not have come back to us so easily.”

Bilbo had never been a very good liar. He’d never had reason to become one until this quest and over the course of it he’d been forced to learn very quickly. No lie had been as big as the one he was about to tell though, or could have as many consequences if it was seen through. With Thorin’s piercing blue eyes fixed on him, Bilbo reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin resting there. It was warm from resting against his side. With a quick flick of his wrist he tossed it to the dwarven king, who caught it in one gauntlet-clad fist.

“I found your treasure. Smaug must have dug it out of every corner of the mountain and piled it all together. You could flood every river in Middle Earth with the wealth down there.”

“And the dragon?” Thorin cut off the cheers before they could start.

_Look at him and lie. If it would save his life you would tell a thousand of them. Don’t let him see through you._

“Only bones now. That’s how I got this.” He gestured at the scratch on his face. “His skull was sticking out of the treasure and I climbed up to get a closer look. I had poor footing though and there was a slide. It almost swallowed me up completely and I doubt I would have been dug out again for a hundred years, so much came down. If you heard a racket that’s probably what it was.” Every eye was fixed on him and Bilbo struggled to maintain his outward calmness. “It covered his skeleton back up again, I’m sorry to say. But if you go down there you don’t have to worry about being set alight by any dragon – the guardian of the mountain is dead.”

The pandemonium was so great that it scared the birds right back out into the storm. The coin was passed around from hand to hand, admired and commented on, and Bilbo received so many hugs and pats on the back that he thought his spine would give out. Balin lifted him right off his feet. Even Fili got into it and gave Bilbo’s hand a hard squeeze to keep up appearances. There was more than a little worry in the prince’s eyes; though it wasn’t reflected in his brother’s when Kili pushed his way over for his turn. It seemed that Fili would keep his secret, at least for a little while.

“So what do we do now?” Gloin asked once everyone had settled down enough to think coherently. “Do we stay here and wait for supplies and aid or venture in and see what damage the beast managed to wrought before he fell?”

Everyone turned to look at Thorin as he turned the coin over and over between his fingers. “We will go in,” he said. “Balin, when you are able I want you to send a raven to Dain. Inform him that Smaug is dead and that we are in need of soldiers. I don’t doubt that Azog is even now rallying a force to send after us. We won’t be rid of him just because we have the mountain back. I want another sent to Lake-Town. Any supplies they can send to us will be paid for with gold.” The coin went spinning through the air and Bilbo caught it again. “Your first payment, Master Baggins,” the king said with a small smile. “For a job well done.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo stammered. His guilt was going to choke him.  

It didn’t take long for everyone to gather up their packs to begin the long walk down to the treasure chamber. Kili and Bofur would already chattering away about what they would do with their newfound wealth and their ideas seemed to range from new crafting tools to buying Rivendell. Bilbo hung back and made a production out of making sure that all of his things were properly stored while the dwarves started down the tunnel. As long as Smaug held up his end of their bargain and stayed hidden, buried beneath the treasure, he would be fine. If not?

“I didn’t want to let you go down there,” said Thorin from behind him. His voice was quiet enough that Bilbo doubted anyone else heard him. They were too busy talking among themselves and trying not to slide as the rainwater trickled down after them.

“I know. I don’t think you would have sent anyone down there happily.”

The dwarf shook his head and helped Bilbo stand and shoulder his pack. “No, I wouldn’t have. I don’t like seeing the people I am responsible for willingly go into danger. I would rather do it myself and not risk their lives for my aspirations.”

“Everyone on this quest wants the same thing, Thorin. They would do anything for you, if you asked it of them.”

“And you?” They stood at the top of the tunnel and watched the dwarves walk ahead of them. “What is it you want? This is not your home, and not your treasure that we’ve taken back for all that you have earned it.”

“I want what any reasonable hobbit wants. A comfortable bed, a hot meal or two, and good company. I’m not terribly complicated.”

Before he could start after the company Thorin’s hand closed around his elbow and stopped him. “Would you take my company?”

 Bilbo blinked up at him. “Your company?”

 “I told you that we weren’t finished.”

“Thorin, this is hardly the time or the place for that sort of thing,” he stalled, not ready to handle this sort of situation right on the heels of dealing with Smaug. It was simply too much to ask of him.

“Perhaps,” the dwarf conceded. “But soon we will speak of it. Now come, I would show you the wonders of my kingdom.”

__________________________________

The crow cawed loudly as it settled on an outstretched arm, preening its wet feathers. The storm had only gotten more ferocious and the cold more biting but here it was ignored. A pale, claw-tipped finger stroked gently down the bird’s breast, smoothing away some of the ice that clung to it.

 _“So.”_ White vapor bloomed between sharp teeth. _“The dragon is dead and the mountain lies in the hands of the Durins once more.”_

Azog the Defiler turned from where he stood atop the rocky knoll on the edge of Mirkwood. Below him in the mud and grass, hundreds of wargs pawed at the ground. Thousands of bare feet and armored boots churned up the muck. Hands around blades tightened as the orc army started up at their commander, waiting. Soon they would be joined by the goblin ranks. It was rumored that the Goblin King himself rode at their head, carried on a cart of bones pulled by cave trolls. With every day that passed their ranks swelled. Soon there would be enough of them to swallow up the entire mountain and every dwarf who thought that they were safe behind their ruined gates.

 _“We march on Erebor!”_ The pale orc roared. _“The age of dwarves is at an end!”_

In a few short days there would be none left to remember the name ‘Durin’. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Yothurur Harâm' in Khuzdul (as far as I could translate it) means 'Many Hours'. Slightly more poetic than 'Twice Born'.


	51. The Ravens' Roost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

There was no dragon-glow to light their way when the company arrived in the treasure chamber. All of the gold lay cold and as undisturbed as it would have had Smaug not been lurking beneath it. One of those mountains of treasure was supported by the sinuous spine of a dragon and there was no way to tell which it was. Bilbo didn’t doubt that Smaug was watching them even now. He felt it in the prickling on the back of his neck. For all he looked he could find no sign of the giant orange eye - Smaug may have been enormous, but he had hidden himself well.

Bilbo even remembered to look up this time, but the drake was not curled around the pillars as he had been earlier. This was a very good thing, since seeing him hanging over them probably would have given Bilbo a heart attack and dropped him dead on the spot. One scare like that a day was all he could handle. Although he may not have had arthritis in his hands or a stutter in his heart any more, a hobbit could only be called up on to endure so much.

Of course, that Thorin’s great paw of a hand was wrapped around his made things seem a little bit better. Bilbo privately hoped the dwarf hadn’t noticed how much his palms were sweating. Right now he felt more like a tween (albeit a stressed, half-panicked tween) than a mature hobbit of fifty. Hand holding wasn’t the same as fucking. Somehow it felt even more intimate. 

“Someone make a light!” Thorin ordered.

There was quite a lot of rustling around in the dark until someone (Bilbo thought it was Dori) produced a little lantern and a candle to go with it. Using it they managed to find a couple of torches set in sconces along the wall. Since dwarven torches ran on oil reserves rather than soaked rags or any sort of kindling they were easily coaxed from their long dormancy and sprang back to crackling life in their hands. Bilbo tried not to be disappointed when he was handed one and was forced to relinquish his grip on Thorin’s hand in order to accept it. It really wasn’t the place for shows of affection, even small ones.

For now there was the business of inspecting Erebor and its riches to attend to.

It was abundantly clear that few (if any) of the dwarves felt the same sense of trepidation that Bilbo did. Even those who knew that Smaug still lived got caught up in the celebration that broke out when they all sank up to their knees in gold. After that it was a long time before Bilbo could get any sense out of any of them.

While the dwarves spread out, congratulating themselves on their very good luck, the smallest member of the company found a chest and settled himself on the lid, clutching his torch. The dragon was dead, the mountain was theirs, and once Dain arrived with his troops they would be able to wipe Middle Earth free of Azog and his wretched kind.

Too bad it was all built on a delicate lie that was stretched as thin as spider silk. The fire he held wasn’t warm enough to even begin to touch the ice that had settled in Bilbo’s chest.

Kili had managed to find a silver crown crusted with sapphires and was busily ordering Fili to fill a tub with mithril for him to bathe in while his brother laughed and found his own golden headpiece. It was clearly meant for a larger dwarf because it immediately slipped down over his eyes while Kili roared with mirth. Oin was inspecting a ruby the size of his fist through Gloin’s jeweler’s loop while the ginger dwarf waxed poetic about the rings and necklaces he was going to give to his wife when his family joined them in the mountain.

The only dwarf who didn’t seem overwhelmed by his newfound wealth was Bifur. The dwarf had stuck close to his cousins for the first few minutes, eyeing everything with suspicion, but when Bofur and Bombur did little else but shove coins and gems under his nose he retired to where Bilbo sat.

 _“Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ_ ,” Bilbo greeted him. It was one of the few snips of Khuzdul he’d managed to pick up while traveling with the dwarves and he hoped that it was a greeting rather than something ridiculously inappropriate.

Bifur inclined his head. “ _Shamukh! Zûr zu?”_

“I’m terribly sorry,” Bilbo said humbly. “I don’t actually speak Khuzdul. Far too guttural a language to fit in my mouth! I was just trying to be friendly.”

The dwarf grunted and took the hand that Bilbo wasn’t using to hold his torch. “ _Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ,”_ he repeated and then showed Bilbo how to hold his palm open with the face up and his middle and ring fingers curled.

“Oh! Hand language,” Bilbo said in delight. “And what does it mean specifically? Is it ‘hello’?”

“More like ‘Hail and well met’ in a respectful sort of way,” said Bofur as he walked by, fastening a pair of bracelets shaped like golden horses around his wrists.

“I see. One of my neighbors had a daughter who couldn’t hear when she was born and they called in a tutor from Bree to teach the whole family hand language. Her brother translated for her when they went out among folk who couldn’t use it. Charming pair of children, I never saw one without the other…” He realized that he’d been rambling a bit and that Bifur probably didn’t care about hobbit fauntlings. “Sorry, I tend to go on. Just give me a poke next time and I’ll catch myself.”

The Khuzdul reply was lost on him, but Bifur’s tone was good natured. In the next hour Bilbo learned both the Khuzdul words and the hand signs for a handful of words. The language was hit-and-miss because there were some syllables he couldn’t seem to wrap his tongue around, but Bifur coached him until they were at least passable. It was a flattering lesson since he knew how closely the dwarves guarded their secret language. He doubted he’d ever be able to speak it fluently but the hand language was fascinating and gave him something to do other than bite his nails or pull at his hair from nerves. 

It wasn’t until Dori came over with a diamond clasp in his hair and Bilbo tried to say ‘gold’ to him in Khuzdul that he realized Bifur might have been having a go at him. Dori declared his attempt ‘utterly crass’ and asked that he not repeat it around Dori while Bifur snickered.

Bilbo didn’t feel guilty at all about the thump in the arm he gave Bifur, even after the dwarf taught him the proper word.

Not long after that Fili and Kili wandered up with Ori in tow and all three young dwarves collapsed in a heap at Bilbo and Bifur’s feet with dazed looks on their faces.

“First thing I’m going to buy,” Fili declared after spitting out a tuft of Kili’s hair, “is a whole cow that we can roast. I refuse to be the richest dwarf that ever starved to death.”

“If I see cram or that lembas stuff ever again it’ll be too soon,” Kili agreed as he placed two amethysts over Ori’s closed eyes. They made the scribe look like he was wearing colored lenses.

“I have some dried fish from Lake-Town in my pack,” Bilbo offered as his own stomach growled loudly. He’d missed more than one meal while dealing with Smaug and now it was catching up with him. “It isn’t quite Beorn’s honey cakes, but it’s better than cram.”

“Don’t talk about honey cakes,” Ori moaned as he fixed the jewels over his eyes so the sharp bits weren’t poking him. “I would trade half my share for a plate of honey cakes right now.”

“I don’t think Beorn is interested in dwarf gold.” Bilbo dug a pack of small salted fish out of his rucksack and distributed them among the little group. They had been packed in salt and tasted strongly of brine.

“I hope Balin writes that letter to Lake-Town soon. Any food that was left in here Smaug probably ate. That or it rotted.”

Bifur said the same rude word that he’d taught Bilbo, no doubt in reference to the dragon. Both of the princes cackled.

“Don’t say that in front of Dori or he’ll blame me. In any event, I’m sure that even Thorin wouldn’t complain about parting with some of this in exchange for a proper meal. Where has he gotten off to anyway?” Bilbo asked, craning his neck to see if he could spot Thorin’s distinctive blue coat. When it didn’t appear he tried to control his nerves. There was no way that the king could possibly come across Smaug – he was buried along with his eggs back in the deepest, darkest corner of the treasure chamber.

“I think he went to the throne room,” Kili answered around a bite of fish. “I heard him say so.”

“Mister Baggins?” Balin’s voice came from behind him and Bilbo turned to see where the old dwarf was calling from. He found him standing next to Dwalin up on a flight of stairs a little ways back. It didn’t seem like Dwalin had found anything to decorate himself with, but Balin had a golden chain around his neck with a heavy medallion suspended from it. It was large enough that Bilbo could easily see it from where he sat.

“Yes?” He called.

“We were on our way to the aviary to send a few letters! Perhaps you would care to join us?”

“Ah, yes! I’ll be right up, just give me a moment.” He carefully slid from the lid of the chest and leveled a finger at the princes and the scribe lounging there. “Behave,” he told them sternly.

“Why Bilbo, when are we not the very picture of courtly manners?” Kili asked, making his eyes wide and guileless.

“I mean it! There’s all sorts of trouble to get up to in here and I don’t have the patience to deal with any of it. Understand?”

Fili and Ori nodded mutely, understanding the meaning behind his words. Don’t go poking about too much or do anything that might annoy the resident reptile. Kili just laughed.

“We will behave, we promise! Tell Lake-Town to send their finest wine so that we can celebrate.”

“And a heavy rock to knock against your thick skull,” the hobbit muttered as he sloshed his way through the gold to the staircase where the two brothers waited for him.

“Why Mister Baggins, whatever happened to your little slippers?” Balin asked as he climbed up the stairs to reach them.

“I – ah – I misplaced them. While I was looking for the Arkenstone, that is. They kept getting coins and whatnot in them so I took them off for a moment and I’m afraid that I forgot to put them back on again. No matter though,” he added as they began to walk. “I’m fairly certain I know where to find them, so I can always go back and get them later should I have a need.”

“Maybe best not,” Dwalin laughed. “Keep them on for too long and you’ll start getting’ soft feet like th’ rest of us.”

Bilbo shuddered with horror. “Perish the thought.” 

The climb to the aviary was long and treacherous. The stone stairs had crumbled away in some places, crushed by an errant wing or claw while Smaug made himself at home or dug about for further riches. Bilbo was content to walk behind the two dwarves while they talked about the time and money it would take to eventually bring Erebor back to her former glory. They would need every craftsman from the Iron Hills to the Blue Mountain to repair the place and make it livable for those who would call it ‘home’ again.

That word settled in Bilbo’s heart like a quiet balm. _Home_. Maybe one day the dwarves would have somewhere they could belong again, somewhere where they were powerful and respected rather than looked down on as vagabonds. If his plan went perfectly well they would have their home back and the best guard the mountain could house. They would be safe.

All he had to do was pray to whatever power was watching over him that nothing went wrong.

They heard the ravens long before they reached the aviary. The mingled caw, croaks, and occasional swear word drifted down from the vaulted ceilings as the three of them climbed. By the time they reached the long, open room Dwalin had to help Bilbo get up the stairs with a hand under his elbow and the hobbit was completely winded.

“All of these stairs,” he panted. “No wonder you all have legs like tree trunks. I think I may die if I have to do that again anytime soon.”

“You’ll get used to it, laddie. Ah! Here we are!” Balin crowed, throwing open his arms wide to encompass the aviary. Like the rest of Erebor, the raven’s roost had a high, open ceiling. There were nooks carved straight into the marble and perches for the enormous black birds to rest on. Bilbo could see sticks and bits of twigs protruding from some of the hollows and guessed that there were old nests inside them, long abandoned. Droppings covered the ground, along with bones and sticks and other such messy things. Bilbo walked carefully so that his feet wouldn’t get coated in the muck, ignoring the glittering black eyes that watched him from every shadowy place.

“Usually it’s cleaner,” Dwalin murmured. “We once had caretakers to look after th’ birds and clean th’ place every day. It used t’ shine as well as any gem and there were no sick ravens under Thror’s watch.”

“Aye, Thorin will be happy to see it put back to working order again. He always loved them best, even more than Frerin and Dis when they were getting into mischief.” Balin chuckled and walked to the open end of the room. There was a balcony there, worn by the wind and the weather until it was hard to tell what color the stone was. The opening was high and wide, wide enough that a hundred ravens could have come and gone at the same time without fear of touching feathers.

The ground was wet with rain but the protruding ledge overhead kept the worst of the storm out. On the edge of the stone wall separating the aviary from the sky was perched a raven so old that he looked as though he would crumble to ash and feathers if anyone looked at him too hard. There was a crown of white feathers around his head and milky, half-blind eyes. He was so large that Bilbo thought he might have been able to carry him right off when he was in his prime.

“Welcome Balin and Dwalin, sons of Fundin, and Bilbo Baggins from Under the Hill. My children have sent me word of your return.” The raven cocked his head at them. “I am Roäc son of Carc. Carc is dead, but he was well known to the line of Durin and Fundin once. It has been a hundred years and three and fifty since I came out of the egg, but I do not forget what my father told me. Now I am the chief of the great ravens of the Mountain. We are few, but we remember still the king that was of old and celebrate your return to the mountain, though you came with shadows at your heels.”    

“Greetings Roäc son of Carc,” Balin greeted the bird formally and bowed low enough that his beard touched the floor. “I remember well your father, favored of Thrain son of Thror. Your brothers and sisters were the companions of the young princes and princess and I know that they think on your line with great fondness.”

“You have my thanks.” Three more ravens joined Roäc on the wall. Two of them gazed silently at Bilbo and another began to comb Roäc’s neck feathers with a wickedly sharp beak.

“We have reclaimed the mountain from Smaug the Terrible and now beseech you for your aid in restoring out great kingdom to its former glory.” Balin, ever the diplomat, was not fazed by their additional company. Bilbo began to sweat.

That was something he hadn’t taken into consideration – the ravens lived in Erebor. They would know that Smaug wasn’t dead. No doubt they were used to hearing him roll over in his sleep and the crunch of his footsteps as he moved among his hoard. Perhaps they had been listening even as he told Smaug his story. If Roäc or any of the others told Balin and Dwalin…

He may as well pitch himself over the balcony and be done with it before Thorin did it for him. Fundin’s sons were loyal to Thorin and there would be no way for him to stop them from telling him what they had learned from the ravens.

 _Don’t be sick, don’t be sick,_ he told himself.

“Aah,” croaked Roäc. “Smaug, whose bones lie in your treasure chamber?”

“You know of any other dragons hereabouts?” Dwalin, silent up to now, stepped forward and inclined his head to the raven chief.

“A few still draw breath.” Every raven in the aviary broke into harsh laughter that made Bilbo want to cover his ears. They knew. They had been listening the whole time, the sneaky birds, and now they were laughing at him.

“And they will find their own end in time,” Balin said mildly. “For now we are simply happy to have our home back from the one that drove us out. I have been sent by Thorin son of Thrain to send a few letters to our allies, requests for food and swords to fight off the shadows you mentioned.”

“Azog,” one of the unnamed ravens at Roäc’s side cawed. “He is gathering an army, Fundin-son. My sister and I gazed upon it as we flew to the mountain from the southern lands.”

“Aye, that’s why we need to send word to Dain,” Dwalin said. “We can hole up here until we starve but between all of us we cannot fight an army. It’s a death wish.”

“Agreed!” Bilbo piped up in a quavering voice. “I have no desire to end up on the wrong end of an orc sword before I reach my next birthday!”

“My children will carry your letters wherever you desire. We are glad to once again have dwarves in the mountain, even if you do bring trouble and chaos with you.” Roäc fluffed his feathers and a couple more ravens came down from the roosts to mill about, shaking raindrops from their wings.

Bilbo’s relief was so great that he almost fell over. There had been no mention that Smaug still lived or of the bargain he had made with the dragons. The ravens were loyal to Thorin, but perhaps this meant that he had them on his side as well. They both wanted what was best for the Durins, dragon or no dragon.

“Balin?”

The old dwarf had pulled a quill and a roll of parchment from an inside pocket of his coat and was writing using the wall to brace the paper. “Yes lad? What is it?”

“It’s just – I need you to write a letter for me as well, and I would like it done up in contract form so that I may sign it and possibly have you witness it.”

He heard Dwalin come up behind him. “And what would you be needin’ such an official document for?”

Bilbo decided that he really needed to stop putting himself into such stressful situations. It was going to give him ulcers. “You remember the day I escaped from our house in Lake-Town?”

Both dwarves nodded.

“I went to meet with a man named Bard. He’s the son of the late Lord of Dale, Girion. The men of the lake respect him much more than they do the Master, for he is brave and loyal to his people. And – and well you see, I made a bargain with him.”

Balin’s eyebrows climbed so high up on his face that they nearly disappeared into his fluffy white hair. “A bargain, Bilbo? What sort of bargain?”

“I agreed to give him half of my fourteenth share to be used to help the people of Lake-Town and rebuilt Dale,” Bilbo said as quickly as he could, in the hopes that it would hurt less if he did it all at once (much like ripping off a stuck bandage) rather than dragging it out.

“You what?!” Dwalin roared. “You think to give away our treasure before we have even had a proper chance to look it over ourselves?”

“I’m not giving it away!” Bilbo shouted back at the big dwarf. “I am promised a fourteenth share to spend as I see fit, and I see fit to rebuild Dale and revitalize trade to your wretched mountain!”

“Now now, let’s all settle down,” Balin said soothingly, putting one hand on each of their shoulders. “Brother, it is clearly stated that our burglar is entitled to his share, and far be it from us to tell him what he should use it on. Besides, I think that he only seeks to help us. We both know that Thorin’s mind is filled with Azog and the Arkenstone and he won’t immediately think to help those who have already helped us. I think this is for the best. Oh! Come now Bilbo, there’s no need for that.” He caught Bilbo under his arms as the hobbit’s legs finally gave out and threatened to drop him into a pile of sticks. “Of course I will draw up your contract. I think that is a much worthier investment than most of us have been considering.”

“Bard and the men also agreed to fight with us should Azog come,” Bilbo replied as he got his feet under him again. “They said it was worth the risk to be able to feed and clothe their families.”

“Ha!” Cried Balin. “What did I tell you, Brother? Every quest should have a hobbit with them – they’re full of good sense.”

“They’re full of somethin’,” Dwalin muttered, still not entirely mollified. “And you never said that.”

“I’m saying it now. Of course I’ll draw up your contract Mister Baggins, and I’m sure that Thorin will be happy to augment whatever you send and repay you for it once we have everything in working order again. We won’t be able to send the gold right away since we have neither beasts nor carts to transport it, but as long as an agreement stands I think the men will be content to wait until we are able to.”

“I don’t need to be repaid,” Bilbo said hastily. “I wouldn’t spend my share on anything back in the Shire, so I think that someone should profit from it. Besides, I still have the second half. I’m not so fond of gold that I mind seeing it go to a good cause. I just need the agreement sent to Bard the Bowman so that he knows I’m a hobbit of my word. And if you would be so kind,” he hazarded, knowing that his next request might not go over well with the Fundins, “could you not tell Thorin about this right away?”

Dwalin made a sound of surprise. “No?”

“He just got his king and gold back. I don’t imagine he’d be happy to hear that I’m trying to get rid of it already.”

“He has a point,” Balin murmured. “We don’t know if Thorin is going to take after – “

“He _isn’t_ going to turn into Thror!” Dwalin growled viciously. “He’s no gold-sick fool like his grandfather.”

“You cannot see the future, Brother. All we can do is wait and watch for now. If he finds the Arkenstone we don’t know what power it will have over his heart. Until we know how he’ll react, I think it is best to honor our burglar’s request.”

Not to mention it would give Bilbo a little more time to figure out how to convince Smaug to loosen his hold on the treasure. If one coin left the mountain without his consent the dragon could very easily kill them all without a shred of remorse. That was another problem he’d have to figure out when the time came.

It didn’t take long for Balin to pen the letters and send them on their way, clutched in the claws of the oversized ravens.

“That’s that,” Dwalin sighed as they started back down the long flights of stairs to rejoin the rest of the company in the treasure chamber. “I don’t much like all this secret keepin’ and politics. Makes my head hurt.”

“Thinking about what you’re going to have for breakfast tomorrow makes your head hurt,” Bilbo replied without thinking and then had to speed up quite a bit to escape the grab the warrior made for the back of his coat. That’s how they arrived back in the chamber, with Dwalin bright red and hot on Bilbo’s heels and Balin coming in last at a slightly more sedate pace. There they found Thorin and the rest of the dwarves waiting for them expectantly.

“Now that we are all finally gathered,” Thorin said with an irritated look at them, “we can begin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally planning on making this chapter much longer, but I'm a big fan of instant gratification so I'll just split it into two chapters and post this one now. 
> 
> My one year fic anniversary is coming up! I published my first chapter of An Expected Journey on January 27th and now fifty-odd chapters later I'm right back to it again. Not sure how I'll celebrate, but there may be wine and a new chapter involved.
> 
> Also I was told that I need to acknowledge my readers more during one of my art livestreams, so...hi?


	52. An Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

He was home.

It was an exhilarating thought, one he dared not dwell on for long for fear that he would lose his wits completely and then not be able to gather them again until the dawn came. What sort of leader would he be if he couldn’t keep his head long enough to plan his company’s next move?

It had been so long since he had last stood in these halls though. One hundred and seventy one years since Smaug had come to Erebor and chased them all out the front gate like bees fleeing before a bear. He had only been twenty four then – he knew the road and the taste of dirt on his tongue better than he knew this splendor; but at the same time it resonated inside of him with a call that settled his blood and soothed his world-weary soul.

_Home._

At long last he had something to show for his work, for all of the blood, sweat, and tears he had shed trying to do his best by his people. By his family. Even now Fili and Kili were rejoicing not far from where he stood, talking in hushed voices about what they would give to their mother first when she arrived. Dis had been so young when they had been forced out, barely more than a babe when Fris had been consumed by dragon fire. Frerin had carried her out, swaddled in a smoke-scented blanket. She would remember nothing of how Erebor had been before Smaug came. Now she could make memories of it with her sons.

“Where are they?” Thorin groused as he walked to the chest that he’d last seen Bilbo sitting on. The hobbit had left with Balin and Dwalin even as Thorin had come back from visiting the throne room. Long had he stood before the dais and still not found the strength to seat himself upon the throne. It still seemed like it belonged to his grandfather even though he was long dead. What would it take for him to be able to think of it as his now?

Ori looked up at him from where he was sketching in his journal. “Balin said they were going to go send the letters, like you wanted. Bilbo went with them. They should be back soon though. Is the aviary very far up?”

“Far enough. We don’t know if the stairs are sound yet.”

The scribe shot a worried look up the way the three had gone, as if he was expecting the marble steps to crumble away any moment. “Should I go up and fetch them? Or just check?”

“Don’t fret Ori; Uncle is just being a worry wart.” Fili slung an arm around Thorin’s neck and was quickly joined by Kili’s from the other side. Their combined weight was enough to make Thorin stagger forward a step and nearly lose his footing in the slippery gold.

“They’ll be back any minute and then Uncle can give us a grand speech and we can see if any ale survived in the kitchens, eh?” Kili’s grin lit up his whole face and Thorin couldn’t find it in himself to dim their good cheer.

“I don’t have any speeches to give. I should make you both give one and watch you swallow your own tongues!” An arm went around each of his nephews’ middles and he squeezed them both tightly enough to make their spines crack and their ribs groan until both of the boys cried ‘peace!’

“You have to say _something_ ,” Fili settled himself down next to Ori. “Everyone expects you too. Most of them didn’t believe they would get here in one piece.”

“Or here at all,” Kili added as he rubbed his ribs with mock pain. “We’ve still got that orc breathing down our necks, but once he’s dead we’ll have Erebor all to ourselves!”

“Not quite all to ourselves,” Thorin laughed. “We will have to share a little space with Dain and his men, and then a little more with our people.”

“As long as we aren’t sharing it with a dragon. Do you think we can make a throne out of Smaug’s skull? It would make that elf’s antler piece look like a footstool.” Kili sat down next to Fili and grinned at his brother, though Fili did not smile in return.

“No, Nephew?” Thorin prompted, noting Fili’s sudden lack of enthusiasm.

“I just don’t think that it would be proper,” his heir said quietly. Kili was looking at his sibling as if he wanted to ask who he was and what he’d done with his brother. “Or respectful. He was a powerful, mighty beast and I would not feel right sitting on his head.”

Thorin nodded at that. “Perhaps not. But considering all of his parts are buried somewhere beneath our feet I do not think we have to worry about what to do with them just yet. It is a fitting tomb for such a monster.” He crossed his arms and looked up at the mountains of treasure that lay before him. It would take a hundred years to even think about sorting and organizing it. “A golden one.”

“Let’s not talk about it.” Fili had begun to chew on one of his mustache beads, which he only did when he was agitated. “What are you going to do about Bilbo, Uncle?”

“Do about him? I hadn’t realized that something needed to be done about him at all.”

“We were listening back outside the secret door. Everyone was. You weren’t exactly being subtle about it,” Kili said, sitting forward and propping his elbows on his knees. Ori suddenly became very interested in his sketch and refused to look up or acknowledge that anyone was talking about anything at all.

“You learned how to eavesdrop from your mother,” Thorin growled, feeling a little bit hot around his collar. When he and Bilbo had spoken they hadn’t been very far from the rest of the company and he shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d been listening in on what should have been a private conversation. He couldn’t begrudge them it though – if he had been a bit wiser he would have moved further off rather than risk being overheard. “I haven’t decided yet. The hobbit and I have unfinished business that I have to talk to him about before I share any plans with either of you busy bodies.”

“I hope he stays,” Fili murmured. “I like him.”

“I do too,” Ori said into his book. “He’s good.”

“And Mother would like him too,” Kili finished. “You should ask him to stay, Uncle. We all know you like him.”

“If I didn’t like him do you think he would still be here?” Thorin couldn’t keep his irritation out of his voice. He hadn’t had enough time to plan out his next move with Bilbo and it was setting him on edge to have his nephews ganging up on him. “We don’t even know if he would want to stay here.”

Ori made a little noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t say anything.

“I think he would.” Fili stood again and shook a couple of coins out of his pant leg. “He does love you after all. He all but shouted it outside. Why wouldn’t he want to stay?”

“I’ll trust you to keep your nose out of my private business, Fili. You may be my nephew and my heir, but you have no right to say anything about this to either Bilbo or me before we’ve decided what to do ourselves.” The crestfallen look on both of his nephew’s faces made him instantly feel like he’d thrown both of them out in the storm that still raged outside. He sighed. “Let me handle this in my own way. I don’t want either of you pressuring our burglar lest he feel like he was forced into something he doesn’t want.”

“Yes, Uncle,” both boys chorused, thoroughly chastised.

It was then that the hobbit in question decided to come dashing in with Dwalin hot on his heels, the warrior spewing obscenities that made Ori’s mouth fall open in awe. The rest of the company had made their way back to the foot of the staircase and Nori and Bofur both laughed as Bilbo nearly went sprawling and Thorin caught Dwalin by his arm to stop his rampage.

“Now that we are all finally gathered,” he growled, “we can begin.”

“Aye, after I’ve hung the Halfling up by his toes from the rafters.”

“Dwalin.”

“Ach, come on Thorin, just for a little – “

“No.”

Perhaps sensing that Thorin wasn’t in any sort of mood for joking, Dwalin gave a quick nod and stepped back to stand between Balin and Gloin, his good-natured ferocity gone as quickly as it had appeared. Bilbo had retreated to Dori’s side and was trying to finger-comb his hair out of his eyes. It had grown more than a little since they had left the Shire and was now long enough that the hobbit could have tied it back in a short horse tail had the urge struck him. Thorin tried not to think about how it would look with his braids woven into it. No doubt Bilbo would have a thing or two to say about that. It was something he might venture to request later on if Bilbo accepted –

Again, that was something best saved for later. He had the eyes of the entire company on him now and everyone had stopped talking. Thorin prayed he could find the right words for them. For all that they were written on his heart he did not know if he could make his tongue form the shapes.

“If I had known that I would be expected to make a speech when we got here, I might not have begun this journey in the first place,” he joked as he walked to the half-buried treasure chest and stepped up onto it. There was a ripple of appreciative laughter from the dwarves. “But here we are nonetheless. I know many of you thought this to be a fools venture. I cannot say that I didn’t think so myself on more than one occasion. What hope did we, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit have against a dragon? The thought kept me awake on many a night, wondering if I was leading everyone to their deaths and it weighed on me.

Tonight though, tonight that weight is finally lifted. Every hardship we faced was overcome. Together we faced the long roads and the lonely nights when no fire could be lit. Together we faced the most heinous enemies that the pits of Middle Earth could conjure up and yet here we stand! All of us! Through fire and blood we came to the mountain and through the same we will hold it! Erebor may be but a shell of what she once was, but we will kindle her great forges and from them will our new kingdom be born!”

A great cheer went up, one that echoed up to the highest heights of the chamber where it was joined by the laughter and raspy cries of the ravens.

The song started low, so quiet that it was more a rumbling than an actual note. It built in their throats and made their chests swell with the music of their fathers and their fathers before them. It was an old song, one that every dwarf knew no matter where he had been born or raised. They had no instruments to join their voices but still they soared, building with every word until their song filled the treasure chamber and made the halls of Erebor ring.

_Azghar dushîn ursur_

_Abùshâg lomil kuthu abkund tanak gaginel_

_Kidhuzel Durintûmhu_

_Dumel abùruf_

_Gaubdûkhimâ gagin_

_Ubzûn Zabad-dum_

_Furukh udranûn_

Thorin’s heart swelled with pride. They really had made it and now everything was going to be as it always should have been. He would make sure of it.

“The night is yours to do with as you please,” he told his assembled company. “In the morning we will gather again to begin our search for the Arkenstone and prepare for war.” He stepped down off the chest, relieved that he hadn’t made an ass out of himself by falling off it halfway. That would have been a grand way for everyone to begin their occupation of the mountain again – by watching their king fall flat on his back like an idiot.

“That was beautiful,” Bilbo said softly from by his elbow. He hadn’t even heard the hobbit creep up, but that was one of the skills that made him invaluable as a burglar. Even Nori couldn’t move about so quietly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. It is a song that was passed down to me by my father, as it was to all dwarves of Durin’s line by theirs. It seemed an appropriate time to give it voice.”

The hobbit made an agreeable noise and looked back to where the dwarves were gathering up their packs again. Some of them were going to go explore the empty halls. Others wanted to find their old homes and see if anything remained of them. “Are you going to stay here or go explore somewhere else now?”

“I thought to seek out my old chambers and perhaps rest for a while. You are not the only one who missed out on a good night’s rest. Fili! Kili!” He called and both of his nephews came wandering over with their bags and weapons tucked under their arms. “Come on, we’re going to seek out some proper quarters and see if the moths have eaten every sheet in the kingdom.”

The boys were more than happy to tag along in their wake, kicking up diamonds as if they were pebbles in the road as they went. Bilbo was more reserved and Thorin noticed that the hobbit’s eye was never drawn to the treasure under their feet but rather to the walls where intricate tile murals depicted scenes of battle and the history of their people. Veins of gold and silver twined through the green marble that made up most of the fortress. Thorin traced it with his knuckles as they passed and thought that he could almost hear the voices of the stone singing beneath his hand as he walked. It would grow loud again with time, when those who knew how to listen to it properly returned.

“What do you think of Erebor?” He asked.

Bilbo glanced up at him, a touch warily. “It’s very big.”

Thorin snorted. “And you’re very greedy with your observations. Speak truly, Bilbo. I value your opinion.”

The hobbit’s eyes returned to the walls. “It’s also very cold, very dusty, and feels dead to me. It might be full of gold, but there isn’t a single growing thing in this whole place. I haven’t even seen a bit of moss since I came in.”

“Dwarves value gold more than flowers,” Thorin reminded him with a small smile. “It’s in our blood.”

“The only thing that’s in your blood is more blood, Thorin. This may be home to you, but to me it feels more like a crypt. Nevertheless,” he added, “if you are happy here then I am happy for you. It’s what you wanted, after all.”

“Yes,” Thorin said quietly. “Yes, it’s what I wanted.” But maybe not _everything_ he’d wanted.

They passed a great many doors and halls and gradually the flow of treasure around them lessened until the floors were only bare stone. The royal quarters weren’t very far from the treasure chamber, but tucked back just enough that they might have escaped Smaug’s notice. Thorin certainly hoped so. He didn’t know how he would feel if he found his family’s chambers nothing but a burned out husk, empty of everything he had once cherished. Was Frerin’s first sword still tucked under his bed and gathering dust? Was Dis’ ivory cradle still in their parent’s chamber, not far from their bedside in case she awoke in the night? He could only hope that these small things remained when so much else lay in ruin. They were worth so much more than the sum of their parts.

The first set of chambers they stepped into had belonged to Frerin. The door wasn’t locked (Frerin had never locked anything, much to their father’s dismay) and swung open soundlessly at Thorin’s touch. It smelled only of dust, not the lung-strangling scent of smoke and metal that seemed to cling to everything else. If it hadn’t been for the thick dust that lay over everything, the room would have been exactly as it had been the day it was left behind – a side table had been knocked on its side as Frerin raced from his chambers at the first shout of ‘DRAGON’. Frerin had run to their parents’ room to get Dis, leaving behind everything in favor of protecting his family. His circlet and royal sword still lay on the dresser, never to be worn or used again by their owner.

Thorin swallowed hard. He could almost see his brother sitting there, lounging in his favorite chair with his feet on the table, his golden hair wild after a ride across the mountainside. They hadn’t been able to bury him after the battle at Azanulbizar. There was no ground to hold their dead, so they had been forced to burn them. Had he cried or called out as he watched his brother and grandfather burn? It had been so long ago that he couldn’t remember, and yet he could still see Frerin here. It was a small blessing.

“This was my brother’s room. Your uncle,” he told Fili and Kili, whose eyes widened as they peered in from behind him. Thorin stepped aside so they could enter. “Stay here for now, until we can find new chambers for you. There’s room enough for you both.”

“Uncle, there’s enough room for an _army_ in here,” Kili said with awe as he followed Fili in.

“These chambers were built to house royalty. Now they will again.”

“Don’t get lost,” Bilbo laughed from back in the hallway.

“You laugh now!” Fili called out. “Don’t let Uncle take you anywhere but in a straight line or we’ll have to send out a search party in the morning!” Both princes started laughing and Thorin shook his head as he ushered Bilbo away. His nephews were more than capable of looking after themselves for a night and no doubt they were eager to learn more about Frerin by digging through his closets. Hopefully his brother hadn’t been hiding any ‘etchings’ that they might come across…

With the princes gone Bilbo seemed to suddenly grow more nervous. Thorin watched out of the corner of his eyes as Bilbo tucked his hands into his coat pockets and gnawed at his bottom lip as they walked. "Do you think they'll be alright?" He finally asked when the silence between them had grown too long. "They seemed excited, but it's a bit overwhelming."

A sharp contrast to Bilbo’s nerves, Thorin felt like he was almost floating with elation. The melancholy of seeing Frerin’s chambers had faded because now he was leading his hobbit to _his_ rooms. "They have every right to be excited. This is their home as much as it is mine. I'm sure they will be more comfortable celebrating without our presence."

"It may be their birthright, but it's hardly their home Thorin," Bilbo pointed out. "They've never been here before. I really don't mind if you'd like to stay with them. I can go find Bofur or one of the others to stay with until tomorrow."

"No," Thorin couldn't look back, not when they were so close. "I want to show you."

"Show me what? Thorin, you're practically bouncing."

Every door in the hall was ornate, made by the best craftsman Erebor had ever produced. With a bit of polish they would shine again. Thorin finally stopped in front of one of the largest, second only to the King’s chambers.

"Here." The door opened as easily as Frerin’s had and Thorin was quick to step inside first so he could assess the damage done.

The dust was the most obvious difference. Much like the rest of the hall, however, it looked like his personal chambers had been spared from the dragon's wrath. So much of his life had been spent in tents or crude huts and eventually the rough halls of Ered Luin that his own rooms now almost seemed foreign to him. The mosaic tile floor, the vibrant rugs, trinkets ranging from puzzles to his books that he had left scattered about. If he opened the wardrobe or chests he was certain he'd find all of his old clothes and blankets inside, though he doubted many of the clothes would fit any more. He was changed that the boy of twenty four who had last set foot here.

Bilbo, who was covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, peeked in from behind him. "Are these rooms yours?" He asked, his voice muffled. "They’re as big as Bag End!"

"Yes." Thorin was so distracted that he'd almost forgotten Bilbo was there, to his shame. He turned back and reached for the hobbit's hand to encourage him further in. "I was only a prince then. But this, all of this, is mine." And everything was exactly where he'd left it.

"Will you have to move now that you're the king rather than a prince?"

"I will, in time. If Fili and Kili would room separately, Fili would stay here since this is the Crown Prince’s room. But..." Until Erebor was being restored he didn't want to think about moving rooms. He'd only just been reunited with it, after all. "It's ours again. Bilbo, it's _ours._ ”

"Ah, _yours_ you mean. Goodness gracious, look at all this dust." Ever the fuss pot, Bilbo stepped around him and puttered over peek through another door that lead away from the sitting room to what he remembered was his bedroom, leaving bare footprints on the rug that was half-hidden by years of unchecked dust and grit.

His...but no, Thorin had meant what he said. He wasn't quite sure _why_ he'd said ‘ours’, but he'd meant it. "Bilbo." He turned to follow Bilbo and set his torch into a sconce on the wall to brighten the room. Something was bothering the hobbit and he couldn’t tell what it was. "None of this would be in our grasp again without you. You are as worthy of all of this as any of us, and more so."

"I was just happy to help," the hobbit said quietly as he moved over to the side of the massive bed that took up most of the sleeping chamber and lifted the edge of the blanket. It was as big as a rug and just as heavy, but golden embroidery could still be seen through the dust and tattered blue threads. "And keep helping until you don't need it anymore."

Maybe it was the overwhelming rush of emotion of having his home back after all these years. Maybe not. Still, Thorin tried to catch Bilbo's attention again. "Do you still have that ring Bilbo? The Consort's Ring?"

"The ring - oh! Yes, of course I do." Bilbo turned to face him, digging in his pocket to produce the Consort's Ring. It gleamed in the hobbit's palm, gold and green rimmed in white fire. "I suppose you don't need me to look after it anymore now that we're here."

Thorin picked up the jewelry carefully, taking a moment to examine it. There were no chips in the stone or dents in the soft gold to show that Bilbo had taken anything but perfect care of it. After a moment he hooked a finger under Bilbo's chin to bring his eyes up. "Bilbo. When we started this quest I doubted you as our burglar. Even though you had skill, I thought that you would be too soft for the road and you’re your resolve would quickly crumble. Time and again I underestimated you and I was properly proven wrong and made to swallow my pride, which was a bitter pill to take. I do not resent or regret any time I had to."

He held the ring up between them and moved his other hand to rest it at the base of Bilbo's neck, his thumb brushing against the warm, bare skin there. "You are unique, beautiful, spirited and we would not be here without you. I can see that now more than ever. You came here, away from your own home and family, not for the treasure but purely out of a desire to help. I would be honored if you would accept this ring as your own." The ring lay in the hand he wasn’t holding on to Bilbo with as he offered it. "And call Erebor your new home with me at your side."

With every word Bilbo's eyes widened until he looked more like an owl that had been caught by lantern light than a hobbit. "I...what? No no, you must be out of your mind. It's - it's the gold! It isn't making you think straight Thorin, I'm sure of it." He took a step back (though not far enough to remove Thorin’s hand) as if the king had pulled a knife on him rather than presented him with a ring.

It wasn’t exactly the response Thorin had expected. A little shock yes, but that didn't make Bilbo’s sheer panic sting any less. Still, he tried to use his hold to steady the hobbit and keep him from getting too far too fast. "No, Bilbo, please. I know what I am saying and I mean every word. My offer stands true." The ring twinkled even in the low light from their torches and Thorin raised it higher in hopes that Bilbo would take it. "I want you to have it and everything that comes with it. I want you to stay here with us. With me."

"Thorin, you should be giving that to a _princess._ Or at least a noble woman. A dwarrrowdam who can give you heirs, not some hobbit from the wrong side of the Misty Mountains!" Bilbo didn't retreat any further, but he didn't reach out to take the offered token either.

"I don't need a princess - I don't _want_ a princess. I want you."

"B-But I'm no one! If this is because I told you that I love you, it really isn't necessary. I just thought that...I just thought that you should know in case something happened. I didn't really expect anything to come of it, truly."

"That's not it." He hadn't expected to meet this much resistance. "I care about you. As we traveled my visions of Erebor changed without me realizing it and suddenly you were in them all. Even if we are here now and the mountain is ours, my quest is not yet done." He still had to convince Bilbo to stay. The dwarf didn't know if he would admit to love just yet, but he knew there was something there that he would do anything to hold on to.

Bilbo covered his face and made a noise into his hands that was half a scream, half a growl, and completely ridiculous.

"Bilbo? Are you alright? What’s wrong?" Thorin tightened his grip slightly and leaned in so that he could brush his forehead against Bilbo’s.

"You're a clot head, that's what's wrong." Bilbo said into his hands. He lowered them after a moment and returned the caress. "Thorin, what am I?"

"You...You're Bilbo Baggins.”

"I didn't ask what my name was, I know that much. I asked _what_ I was. Do try to use your ears the way they're meant to be." Bilbo leaned back just enough that he could look up at him.

"You're the most amazing being I have ever met."

"Thorin!"

"If there is an answer you want from me, maybe you should just tell me what it is!"

"I'm a hobbit!" Bilbo all but shouted, turning bright red around his ears. "I'm not a dwarf, I'm a hobbit!"

Thorin just stared. Why that mattered, he wasn’t sure. No one would dare contest his choice of Consort - he could have picked a troll and no one would say anything about it.

"And as a hobbit, I'll be lucky if I live to see my one hundred and thirtieth birthday. I won't live as long as you, not by far! By the time I'm as old as Kili is now most of my hair will probably be gray. I'll be old and useless before you've even reached middle age, Thorin."

"But I'm already -"

"Hush, I'm not finished. Go find a nice dwarrow or dwarrowdam to bind yourself to who can grow old with you. Because - " Bilbo stopped and took a steadying breath. "Because I can't," he finished miserably.

Thorin felt his heart sink. "Even if it was only one year you had to give, I would still treasure it. I don’t love anyone else." He let his hand slip away and his voice grow quiet.

"You don't love _me_ either! All you're feeling is misguided gratitude!"

He wanted to argue. He wanted to shout and shake the hobbit until Bilbo understood that no, this wasn't something that was only just manifesting. This was something that had been forming for months and he was finally beginning to understand it. But if he pushed the subject now it would only further upset Bilbo.

He did not, however, take away the offer of the ring. "I still want you to have it. Please, Bilbo. You carried it all this way and I can think of no one I would want to keep it more."

It was with obvious wariness that Bilbo held out his hand for Thorin to drop the ring onto. He slipped it onto his thumb and turned it back and forth in a familiar motion that showed that he had probably done the same with it while it resided in his pocket. "And what if..." He started and then broke off.

"It's yours," Thorin reaffirmed. With the ring in Bilbo's possession maybe it would be easier to bring the subject up later when their emotions weren't so raw. If not? It was something for the hobbit to take home. To remember him with.

"No, this is important!" Bilbo stepped forward, his fingers tightening around the ring. "What if I accepted this and then did something terrible? Something that made you hate me? What then?"

Thorin grabbed Bilbo and pulled him into his arms. It was spontaneous, but he couldn't _help_ it. "You presume so much. I could not hate you so easily." There was always a reason to what his hobbit did. He knew that he tended to overreact at first, but when it was finally explained...they had always reconciled in the past.

"I wish you wouldn't say that," Bilbo mumbled into the front of Thorin's blue coat, but his hands crept around to the back anyway so that he could hold onto Thorin more tightly. "Ridiculous old dwarf..."

That insult only came up when Bilbo was worn down. Thorin was thankful for the embrace or his smile might have driven the hobbit into another fit. "I don't believe I will argue with you this time."

"There really is a first time for everything."

"Enjoy it." He started to pet Bilbo's hair, chuckling.

A pair of soft brown eyes peered up at his from the level of his breastbone. "This doesn't mean I'm saying yes, mind you. I'm just waiting for you to come to your senses."

"I guess we'll see." Bilbo may just be the one that ended up changing his mind.

Bilbo rubbed his chin against the front of Thorin's shirt, catching himself on a yawn. "Can we see later, possibly? After a nap? I spent all of last night poking about in the dark while you lot had a nice rest."

Thorin glanced at his old bed. If they turned the blanket down the rest might be okay. "Would you like to try my bed?"

The bed in question was given a wary look. "I suppose if we flipped over the comforter it might be clean enough, but if I find a single spider in there I'll be sleeping on the floor instead." It wasn't surprising that Bilbo had no fondness for arachnids after their adventures in Mirkwood.

"You have my word I will protect you." Thorin assured. It was a simple matter of working up the will to let Bilbo go so he could arrange the bed properly. "A proper bed..." Not only that, but his old bed.

"Stop seducing me with proper bed sheets."

"Proper would be freshly laundered, still warm from the fire."

"Yes well, I'm afraid that most of your laundry folk have moved to the Blue Mountains. We'll just have to make do with dusty, moth-eaten ones for now." Together they flipped the top comforter over and inspected the slightly cleaner underside. Rather than wait for him to open up the old chest and see if any of the blankets within were salvageable, Bilbo promptly crawled onto the best and lay there using his arms to cushion his head. The hobbit was finished with his day.

Bilbo's action more or less put an end to their discussion. He wasn't quite where he was going to stay though - Thorin quickly climbed up to join Bilbo and nudged him to turn over so he could lie at his back.

"Don't you start," Bilbo mumbled without opening his eyes. "I'm too tired for anything."

"I just want to hold you." Thorin leaned down to nuzzle into Bilbo's hair and kiss an ear.

"I'm still not saying yes." Thorin got a soft elbow to his ribs for his trouble.

"I didn't say you had to," Thorin grunted and tried to protect his midsection as he settled down and laid a hand over Bilbo's waist. "It's warmer."

Bilbo seemed to accept that because he didn't try to wriggle away. Both were silent for long enough that Thorin thought he had gone to sleep when Bilbo spoke again. "I don't think I could live in a mountain. There aren't enough growing things."

Thorin had started to doze up, but he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't offer some words of assurance. "The mountainsides...I’ll cover them in gardens for you." He tightened his grip on the smaller body beside him.

They had a soft bed and four walls to keep them safe. They had a kingdom that they would rebuild on the bones of the very dragon who had thought to rip it away from them and in the morning they would begin the search for the Arkenstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. Fifty two chapters for fifty two weeks of a full year, as of today. This one is dedicated to you, my wonderful readers.  
> Thank you for staying with me this long.  
> Now on to the end.  
> Love and kisses to Mel for helping me with Thorin's dialogue.  
> If you'd like to hear what I imagine the singing sounds like, take a listed to this!  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4dT8FJ2GE0


	53. Counsel for the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A
> 
> If you would all at this point in the fic please direct your eyes upwards to the 'eventual happy ending' tag that has been included, I would be most grateful. Keep that in mind as our story slowly spirals into misery.

_Slowly the days turned sour and the watchful nights closed in._

__________________________________

However much he wanted to believe that they would be different this time around, Bilbo quickly woke up to the reality of keeping company with dwarves. Like the rest of their kind they all had certain traits that were ingrained onto them like scars upon their very bones – loyalty to their families, bravery, and a tendency towards hard-headedness. But they were also greedy, secretive, and short-tempered and those were the traits that began to surface more and more as the days turned over in the depths of Erebor.

It was hard to say when he first began to notice that the company was slipping under the power of the dragon-spelled gold. With the serpent lying dormant under them his magic was as strong as it had ever been and even Bilbo found himself looking upon the treasure once in a while, wondering how much he could fit in his pockets and what he could spend it on. Those thoughts were quickly shaken loose, but not so with everyone else.

After their initial celebration they quickly fell into their own routines. Bombur took to the old kitchens with Bifur in tow and together they spent most of their time scrubbing the dust out of kitchen pots bigger than Bilbo and restoring running water to the pipes. Great rivers ran under the mountain and hot springs as well, but first the pipes had to be cleaned of all the stagnant water and muck that had accumulated in them over the many years were they had sat unused. It was a nasty job, but at least the two dwarves escaped the worst of the gold-lust that had settled over everyone like a cloak made of clinging, sticky spider thread. It wrapped around their heels and made their feet drag and their eyes cloud over as if with fever, though this fever was not one that could be cured with cool water.

With hope that dwindled a little more with every passing hour, Bilbo watched Thorin begin his search for the Arkenstone. Early had the king awoken on the first morning and he had been dressed and gone before Bilbo even realized that the warm strength at his back had disappeared. He found him in the treasure chamber.

If they weren’t off by themselves doing who-knew-what (actually he did know about some of it, he had come across Dwalin and Nori and their idea of who-knew-what just yesterday and quickly turned in the other direction), the dwarves were all helping with Thorin’s increasingly frantic search. No one asked Bilbo for his help, perhaps they thought that he had done his part already, but he still made a bit of a show of ‘searching’. Of course, no one was going to find the Arkenstone any time soon if he had anything to say about it. The stone may not have had any true magic of its own, but its great beauty had tempted men, elves, and dwarves alike. The first time Bilbo had encountered it, he had pocketed the thing with the idea of claiming it as part of his fourteenth share. Even he was not immune to its allure, no matter how much he wished to be.

Thankfully the Arkenstone was far out of their reach. Or under it, rather. The dratted thing was safely tucked away underneath Smaug’s eggs, kept warm and protected by the most ferocious father in all of Middle Earth. Bilbo may not have been at all fond of Smaug or the Arkenstone, but he got a funny, warm sort of tickle right in his chest whenever he thought about the three boulder-sized eggs that were hidden in the treasure. Never in his wildest dreams would he have considered such a thing existing, but there they were. When they finally cracked open, would the hatchlings be warm and soft? Would they be able to speak like Smaug before long? It was one of the things that Bilbo thought on when he took a break from his pointless digging.

On the third day supplies from Lake-Town arrived, brought in a cart pulled by an old cow with sweet eyes. It was mostly filled with fish and what root vegetables the men had been able to spare, but there was a whole freshly-slaughtered pig as well which Bilbo was very happy to see. The man on the cart seat was dressed like a market merchant and his companion was a tall man was a neatly trimmed beard and dark hair.

Bilbo pumped Bard’s hand vigorously while Gloin and Balin inspected the contents of the cart and haggled over payment with the merchant.

“Bless you for coming,” he said, happier than he had been in a while. Bard had a certain air about him that spoke of natural command and level-headedness, something that had been sorely lacking around the mountain as of late.

“I wanted to see with my own eyes that your message was true and that you had not been eaten up by Smaug. I am glad that my fears were unfounded.”

“Yes, we’re all still standing unless we’re sitting on our backsides lately. I’m afraid that there isn’t much that can be done until they find the Arkenstone.”

“Ah, I think you mean that your companions won’t be stirred to do anything else until it is found?” Bard asked shrewdly and Bilbo ducked his head in shame. “I think I understand, little master. It is not your fault or through lack of trying that this is so, I’m sure. The dragon sickness still holds this mountain in its grip and even if you offered me my promised treasure, I would not take it yet. I have no wish to see my friends and kinsmen fall prey to such foul workings. In fact I am surprised to find you so unaffected!” His heavy hand landed on Bilbo’s shoulder, but he did not stagger under its weight. Months of fighting and dealing with overzealous dwarves had brought him into peak shape (which for a hobbit meant ‘slightly less round’) and now it would take more than Bard’s friendly gesture to send him tipping over.

“Yes well, I’m more likely to be tempted by tomato seeds than by rubies. Tell me of Lake-Town though. Are you preparing for war, should it end up on our doorstep?”

The man nodded gravely. “We remember our promises and who we made them to, aye. The Master knows of our alliance, but with most of the able-bodied men already on our side thanks to your promised payment there is little he can do but bluster. Our smith is kept hard at work forging enough weapons to arm everyone properly and always our boats are at the ready should there come a need for our families to flee deeper onto the lake. Arrows can only reach so far, after all.”

“You’re a good man, Bard. It has been a pleasure to know you, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances.”

“I’m afraid you would have found me rather grim company even in times of peace, Master Hobbit. A cheerful disposition does not run in my line very often and I’m afraid that my daughters took most of my share. I gave it gladly, though. They make better use of it than I would.”

“Grim or not, I am glad to have met you. You’ll make a good lord for your people.”

In the end he was left standing before the ruined front gates, waving sadly after the now-empty cart and the men who rode in it as Balin and Gloin worked to get their new foodstuffs inside. Balin had paid for them with coin out of his own pocket (which seemed like paltry change compared to his new wealth). No doubt the old dwarf had the same idea as both Bilbo and Bard – sending dragon-cursed gold down into a village of men when it was still strong enough to twist its rightful owners was asking for trouble and grief. Lake-Town and Dale had waited this long for the rivers to run with gold, so they could wait a little longer until that treasure wouldn’t drive them madder than March hares.

It was with a heavy heart that Bilbo turned to go back into the mountain. From the inside they had managed to clear a little space, just big enough to crawl through and get to the fresh outside air. The majority of the front gate was still caved in and it creaked and groaned alarmingly whenever anyone dared tamper with it too much. They fear it would cave in should they go at it without the proper tools, so their crawlspace was the most they would do to it. At least it was more convenient than going in and out through the hidden door.

Once he was back in the smoky darkness of the mountain with only torches to light his way any joy that he had found at seeing Bard was quickly banished. He was quickly shuffled to where he wouldn’t get in the way of the working dwarves. He couldn’t carry as much as they could, nor were his eyes as sharp in the low light so he was deemed ‘thoroughly useless’ by most of the company and ignored. His help had only extended as far as Erebor and now it looked like he was going to be swept under the edge of the carpet like so much dust. It was a humbling idea and one that he had grown more than used to in the past. After he left Erebor after the Durin’s funeral, he hadn’t seen much of the dwarves after that. A few letters had been exchanged and Balin had dropped by with Gandalf on their way to the Blue Mountains, but Bilbo wasn’t sure if the kindly old dwarf would have come at all if the wizard hadn’t insisted on it.

After all, he was a hobbit and they were dwarves. Their good will could only be stretched so far to include those who were not their own kind. 

“They aren’t _cruel_ ,” he mumbled to himself as he sloshed through the treasure with a little lantern clutched in his hand to light his way. It had now been seven days since they had entered the mountain, though it felt like much longer to him. “And really, I shouldn’t have expected them to change very much. All I did was ease the way a little bit on the journey here, which really hasn’t changed much in the end.”

More than anything what he wanted right now was someone to talk to. Too bad they were all wrapped up in their own business with no time for a hobbit who wanted to talk about silly things like the weather outside or winter parties. It wasn’t as if he was asking very much; a bit of cheerful conversation would have made him feel a bit lighter. When he had gone to the kitchen to help Bombur and Bofur he had been quickly sent on his way again with cries that he was much too small to be trying to help maneuver things around and since he had no knowledge of the plumbing of Erebor he couldn’t help on that front either. Fili and Kili had tried to stick close to him for the first few days, but they were called away by Thorin more and more often until the only time Bilbo got to see them anymore was at supper time, which was the only organized meal they had anymore. Breakfast and lunch were scrounged up in your own time and for Bilbo consisted of bread and whatever else he could spirit away from their supplies.

It was making do, but it didn’t feel very much like _living_ to Bilbo.  

The worst was Thorin. Lonely days he could handle, he’d done it for years. A few nights sleeping with Thorin at his back? That had ruined him for lonely nights. They never touched beyond a few kisses before they fell into bed in exhaustion and they never spoke of Thorin’s offer, but those kisses had stopped at the same time the dwarf had begun to grow distant. He came to bed later and later in the night, until Bilbo only realized that he had been there at all because the sheets on his side of the bed were rumpled when the hobbit woke.

The morning after that they hadn’t been touched at all.

Bilbo bit down hard on the meaty part of his thumb as he walked. He couldn’t have accepted Thorin’s proposal even if he wanted to – it simply wasn’t possible. There were too many secrets between them and he had no doubt that when Thorin discovered his treachery that he would be cast out of the mountain. Hopefully not off of the battlements, but that was the price of betrayal. At the very least Thorin would no longer look on him with kindly eyes and he would resent making such a binding offer. So the Consort’s Ring sat heavy and unused in Bilbo’s pocket and he would not touch it except to make sure that it was still there. Thorin was stubborn though, and rarely gave up on what he wanted so easily. That he hadn’t pushed Bilbo since he had made the offer a stone that gleamed and glittered.

“Hardly surprising,” he continued, keeping a sharp eye on his feet so he wouldn’t stumble. He hadn’t gotten around to fetching his boots back, but at least the scars on his foot were beginning to toughen up enough for him to walk without too much pain. The cold made them ache terribly though, all the way through to his bones. “They’re dwarves you lack wit. What did you think was going to happen? That they whole top of the mountain would open up to let in the sun and everyone would sing like the elves in Rivendell and be happy? Ha! That’s wishful thinking of the highest order, Bilbo Baggins you ridiculous old sod.”

Ridiculous.

Old.

Sod.

That’s all he really was when it came right down to it. He was one hobbit with a second chance and all he’d done was make things worse. Smaug had killed thousands of dwarves, stolen their homes, their history, their lives, and Bilbo had left him buried in the same chamber that his friends even now picked their way through. What reason would Smaug have to keep his word? He had his life and his eggs now, what use did he have for them? Oh Bilbo had promised him the mountain and a golden statue and the alliance of the dwarves who could mine more treasure for him to lounge about on, but those weren’t exactly Bilbo’s to promise in the first place. The dragon could very well rise up the moment one of them took a penny out of the mountain and decide that he didn’t want dwarves tromping about after all. Then they would all burn and Bilbo’s secrets wouldn’t have done anyone any good.

“Dark thoughts?”

“Just serious ones,” Bilbo answered without thinking.

A prickle like someone had rubbed a hedgehog down his spine went through him and he froze in place, his hand convulsing on the lantern chain. Oh he’d been a fool for wandering this far from the company. Gold shifted slightly under his bare feet and fell away, revealing red scales as big as dinner plates. And he was standing on them. Right on Smaug’s snout, to be precise.

“My lord,” he gulped. “I’m terribly sorry for disturbing you, I didn’t mean to –“

“Your thoughts were not inside this mountain. I was watching you and I can smell your misery. Do the dwarves trouble you, even though you are their champion?” The dragon’s voice was oddly quiet, as if Bilbo was listening to it through water. No doubt this was another kind of dragon-magic that Smaug was using to make sure they weren’t overheard. “I would happily eat them all and erase that pain.”

“Eat them but not me?” Bilbo asked, leaning down so that he could look into Smaug’s enormous eye. It reflected the lantern light back at him and made the dragon’s pupil seem as deep as a well.

“You amuse me, little creature. Long has it been since any have spoken to me without fear and you had the audacity to shout. Give me your company and I will share with you my hoard.” Smaug’s tone was temptation itself, but Bilbo steeled himself against it.

“Thank you for the offer, but no. I prefer watermelons to sapphires and soft chairs to golden thrones.”

“I figured you would turn me down. My spell does not affect you as it does those you brought with you, perhaps because you’ve sampled it before?”

“Maybe,” Bilbo agreed. He knew the taste of Smaug’s magic on the back of his tongue and in the dark place in his mind. It was like a creeping vine that sought to strangle and poison everything it touched. “Could you take it off, oh Smaug the – “

“Don’t. You flattery has gotten you this far and I have no further use for it. And I could, but I will not. I have no promise from any of your dwarves and I hide in my treasure as if I am the intruder instead of them. Until I know my place in these things my spell will stay. Not that it would make much of a difference,” the dragon added as he lifted his head out of the gold and craned his long neck up towards the ceiling so that he could see the lit areas that marked where the dwarves were searching. Bilbo clung to one of his horns so that he wouldn’t fall. “They are dwarves. Even without my magic they would be cruel and greedy. Do they turn on you, little summer creature? Have they come at you with knives in the dark yet?”

“No! Of course they wouldn’t!” Bilbo said in horror.

“Ah, so they welcome you as one of their own with open arms instead?”

“N-not quite. I’m sure that I can find some way to fix this, to make things right.”

“Summer creature, to them this is what is right. They will never understand you or me or what we love. To them you are the unnatural one because you don’t want what they covet. Not yet, not tomorrow, but one day you will come between one of your ‘friends’ and my treasure and you will find out exactly how far your welcome extends.”

“You’re wrong,” Bilbo whispered and the dragon laughed.

“Why would I lie? You have given me nothing but the truth and I will give you the same honor whether you want it or not.”

“You are an evil creature.”

“Evil is a matter of perspective,” Smaug said as he lowered his head again. “Is the cat evil when it digs out an ant hill in search of something to eat? No, it is a cat and that is in its nature but what would the ants say about it? They would say the cat is an evil creature. That is all I am. A cat amongst ants, doing what is in my nature.”  

“I’ve decided I don’t much like your nature,” Bilbo said as he scrambled off the dragon’s head and back into the gold, clutching his lantern.

“Do you think this upsets me?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then you’d be right. I will continue to wait, summer creature, but know that you are borrowing my time and I will call in my price. My patience is not eternal. I will not allow these dwarves to continue as they please in my mountain for long.”

“Just what I needed, an impatient dragon on top of all my other troubles,” Bilbo muttered to his toes. Smaug didn’t reply, just sank back into the treasure like water until the only thing Bilbo could see of his were the tips of his horns.

“Bilbo! Hey-o, Bilbo! Where’d he get off to?”

“I dunno, I thought I saw him coming this way but this place is so big that he might have slipped away somewhere.”

“Without his lantern?”

“No, he had one.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m not an idiot, Fili! Lay off.”

“Don’t snap at me, you’re starting to sound like – “

“I’m right here,” Bilbo said quickly, stepping around the corner and coming up face to face with Fili and Kili, both of whom had their lanterns held up high. Both of them had shadows under their eyes and Fili was starting to get a groove between his brows from scowling. “I just went off wandering, you didn’t have to come and fetch me.”

“Balin wanted us to,” Kili said quickly. “We’re taking a break from looking because Uncle has shut himself up in his throne room.”

“Like he does every night,” Fili said dourly. So that was where Thorin had been spending his nights.

“So what did Balin need me for?” Bilbo asked, stepping between the brothers so that he could start walking back the way he had come, leading them away from the dragon that lay only feet away.

“I think he wanted to talk.” Kili pushed the rough ends of his bangs out of his eyes. His voice held none of the merriment or humor that it usually did and Bilbo realized that both princes seemed as worn down as he felt. This mountain rode them all hard. “Dori said that he was sorry about shouting at you yesterday,” he said more quietly.

“You’re a bad liar, Kili.”

“Well he should have. It’s not your fault that you don’t know about…things.”

“You mean like what I’m allowed to toss over my shoulder and what is a precious family heirloom that should be ‘treasured until Durin walks again’.”

Kili winced at the acid in Bilbo’s voice. “Yeah, things like that. I’m sorry; it’s just that we’re all busy looking for the Arkenstone! When we find it Thorin will have it and be able to be a proper king and I’m sure he’ll – “

“No.”

“No?” Fili said curiously from his other side.

“No,” Bilbo repeated. “I’m not interested in what Thorin is going to do after he’s king. You can have your gold and your mountain and be happy with it. I’m going home.”

“But I thought Thorin was going to ask you to stay! He told us he did!”

“And did he tell you that I said no?” Bilbo pressed. Both brothers looked horrified. “Don’t give me those faces, I can’t stay! A mountain isn’t the right place for a hobbit, especially not me.” He gave Fili a hard look and an expression of dawning comprehension came over the eldest’s face. Thorin wouldn’t have him after the dragon.

“But we want you to!” Kili wailed, ever oblivious. “Everybody does! They’re just tired and busy and worried so they’ve gotten – “

“Kili,” Fili said sharply. “Don’t. We all know why we’ve been so irritable lately, we aren’t blind.”

“I _don’t_ have gold-sickness,” Kili snarled. He looked horrified at himself when he realized how he sounded. “I don’t _want to…”_  He whispered.

“I know, _nadadith_. I know.” Fili caught his brother by the scruff of his neck and they pressed their foreheads together, trying to comfort each other. Bilbo wished that there was something he could do, but in this he would forever be an outsider. “We’ll make this better, you’ll see. We’ll make it right.” His words echoed those that Bilbo had spoken to Smaug.

After a moment Bilbo shuffled his feet to remind them that he was still standing there. “Let’s be on our way and see what Balin wants. Come on.” He took both their hands and clutched them tightly and both princes squeezed back. “You shouldn’t worry so much or you’ll have as much white in your hair as your uncle.”

“Oh you should be one to talk,” Fili laughed, but his voice was rough. “You do more worrying than most of us put together.”

“Yes, and you can get white hair on your feet too! We can’t,” Kili added.

“Shall I tell you where else your uncle has white hair?”

“Please don’t. I’d rather not think about – too late. Now it’s stuck in my head.”  

By the time they made it to where Balin and Dwalin were waiting for them on the steps Bilbo’s felt a little bit better. Being stuck with only his own company for days on end hadn’t done him any good and listening to Fili and Kili’s agreeable bickering had put a bit of a spring back in his step. When he saw how grim the sons of Fundin were though, that faded as quickly as it had come.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he climbed up the stairs to join them and settled himself on the one below Dwalin.

“Ah, good t’ see you laddie. We were just wondering where you had got off too and I confess you had me a mite worried.” Balin stroked his beard and nodded to Fili and Kili in thanks. “My brother and I were just talking about you and we realized that we’ve been a bit less than hospitable in welcoming you to our home.”

“You don’t need to welcome me. There are more important things to be doing than making sure a hobbit feels welcomed to a dwarf kingdom.”

“Aye, things like preparin’ for war,” Dwalin growled. “I didn’t think we’d be spendin’ this long lookin’ for that rock. We should be findn’ armor and weapons instead rather than waitin’ for Dain to arrive and lend us a set. Settin’ up defenses!” The big dwarf slammed his fist down on the rock beside him and Bilbo heard it crack.

“So why aren’t you?” The hobbit asked, but he knew the answer the moment the question left his mouth. The look Balin and Dwalin exchanged just cemented it. “Oh. I see.”

“He thinks he needs it to rule,” Balin said softly and Kili turned away from them as if he couldn’t bear to listen. “He won’t hear reason, that Thror ruled perfectly well before they found the blasted thing, as did his father and his father before him. It’s true that Dain’s men will follow him if he has the Arkenstone, but they would do the same if it had never been dug up in the first place! He is still a king, even if he has no stone or crown.”

“But what are we t’ do about him? I went t’ speak with him just yester eve and he sent me on my way like some chit who had come t’ bring him a drink. I jus’…I don’t know how t’ reach him where he has gone.” Dwalin shoulders slumped in defeat and Bilbo’s heart went out to him.

“He isn’t mad, Brother. Don’t lose hope just yet. He has simply lost sight of what should be.”

“So what do we do?” Fili asked, leaning on his own step.

“Question!” Bilbo chimed in and the four dwarves turned to look at him. “I just had a thought is all. It’s just that all four of you are related to Thorin. Why is it that the dragon’s spell or the gold-sickness or whatever it is, seems to be affecting him so much more than the rest of you?”

“Hard t’ say. Maybe he got it from his grandfather,” Dwalin mused, tugging at his mustache.

“No no, Thror was perfectly sane for many years before he took a turn for the worst. Even after they found the Arkenstone he held his own for a good long while.” Balin’s eyes went soft as he cast his mind back. “He was a good, strong king. He didn’t start to lose his way until…” He trailed off.

“Until?” Kili pressed, climbing up so that he could sit close enough to Bilbo that their knees touched.

“Until the Queen died. Your grandmother,” he said to Fili and Kili. “It was a sudden thing, an assassination attempt on Thror’s life that she took the blade for instead. There were complications and she died shortly after. The whole mountain mourned for a year, Thror for much longer. I don’t think he ever truly recovered from it.”

“And after that he was weak against gold?” Fili asked and Balin nodded.

“It makes sense,” Fili mused. “I mean, I have Kili. We’ve both agreed that half the fun of having all this –“ He gestured at the mountains of treasure behind him, “is finding things to give to each other or to give to our mother.”

“And me for my Maylin,” Dwalin said quietly.

Balin nodded. “We have someone to project our desires onto. It’s not a complete fix, that won’t come about until the dragon’s spell fades, but it helps us keep our heads a little bit better than Thorin is.”

“So he needs someone to push his gold-lust onto?” Bilbo asked, the wheels in his head turning faster and faster.

“Aye, I imagine that might clear things up at least a little bit, but we don’t know if it would work.”

“I know what you’re hinting at,” Bilbo snapped. “If anything would work, it might be that. But I just don’t know if he would – if he would want – I told him no! I still won’t stay, even if this does work.”

“You don’t need to stay,” said Dwalin from the step above him. “Though I’d rather you did if it made him happy. He hasn’t had enough of th’ stuff in his life.”

“I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him laugh,” Kili murmured and Bilbo gave him a sharp poke in the ribs to quiet him.

“I’ll do it, you know I will. I would do anything to save him, even if it’s from himself. But,” he said, his voice quiet and afraid. “I don’t know if it will be enough.”

Balin’s hand settled on his shoulder and he looked up into the old dwarf’s wise eyes. “Don’t you worry about that, laddie. We’ll make sure it is.” 


	54. The Bitterest Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Unhappy Smut, Mentions of Madness and Depression, Emotional Pain:

Lost in memory.

That’s where Thorin had been as of late, through both days and nights. It was as if coming back to Erebor, coming _home_ he reminded himself, had opened a door that he hadn’t known had been shut and locked up tight. Every story he had ever told Dis about her birthplace or to Fili and Kili about their birthright had come to him as if through a haze of dragon smoke. Details had grown soft as he grew older and he had begun to forget things, little things that made all the difference. Streets, names, places, events. All were tainted by bitterness and time.

He hadn’t been strong enough to hold the mountain against Smaug - none of them had.

Being here made everything sharp again, almost painfully so. He could touch every crack in the stone where Smaug’s claws had come crashing down as he came through the gates. Dwalin had stood over there, axe in hand, and ready to defend their home to his last breath. Thror was on the stairs, his hand extended and a smile on his face as he invited Thorin to come see the newly hatched raven chicks. Frerin ran down that hall or across that bridge, toy sword in hand and his braids undone. Fris sat with Thrain in their chambers, laughing. Always laughing.

Thorin sat as heavily on the throne as if he was made of stone himself. _Tap tap tap_ went his fingers on the cold armrests. There shouldn’t have been silence here. Erebor demanded sharp, endless noise. Hammers striking anvils, the ring of pickaxes echoing up from the mines, and the roar of the forges. Voices. Laughter.

This silence though? Anything but this. It pressed in on his ears until his own muttered words seemed as loud as shouts. Only the crackling of a single torch combated the noise of his uneven breaths. But what could he do? There was precious little that could be done until Dain arrived. His company, for all that they were brave and fiercely loyal, lacked the manpower to accomplish what needed to be done.

If only he didn’t need that damn Arkenstone!

 _Need or want?_ Asked a suspiciously reasonable voice in his head, which he quickly silenced. Of course he needed it. The Arkenstone was the heart of the mountain, the symbol or their line and their right to rule, given to them by Mahal himself some said. Surely no one else could craft a gem of such captivating beauty.

Maybe it was an impossible task that he had set his company to, finding one gem out of a million. Even with every dwarf in Ered Luin looking it could take weeks to find it, but his dwarves hadn’t failed him yet. He would have been down there, knee deep in gold and helping them search now but…

For as long as he could remember he had believed in what he could see and touch rather than trusting his intuition. That only got him lost. His stone-sense was woefully weak. It was lucky he had been born royalty rather than a miner’s son because he didn’t have the ability to tell when a path would hold him or crumble away beneath his feet. Erebor’s walls sung to him like they did for every dwarf who entered through her gates, but it was a quiet voice. Gold and gems had never spoken to him at all.

Or at least not until now.

It had taken him days to notice the whispering in the back of his mind where there had previously been only silence. It was a voiceless, crooning song so no real melody or tune. At first he was able to ignore it for the most part, but it crept in when things were quiet and he eventually came to realize that he could not silence it again. It was the song of gold and it had grown so loud inside his mind that it was practically deafening. Oh how he longed for the normal noises of Erebor, if only so that they might drown out this terrible obsession for a little while and give him some peace.

“It’s the sweetest song and it will get into your bones,” Thror had told him in a moment of clarity before Smaug came. Thorin knew what he meant now. It was gold madness and it was worming its way into his skull with claws made of diamonds and a song like dragon magic.

It was cowardly, but he had tried to hide from it. When faced with temptation that tactic had served him well enough before. By simply avoiding something it was easier for him to ignore it.

His hands convulsed on the arms of the throne and he slid down a little bit lower in it. Distance wasn’t helping him this time. He’d only realized he was falling prey to the same obsession that Thror had when Dwalin found him sifting through a chest and asked if he was ready for breakfast what felt like only moments after he’d finished dinner. He had spent all night in the treasure chamber without realizing it. So he had confined himself here in this cold, empty place in the hope that separating himself from the cursed gold would somehow help him remember who he was. He would _not_ become his grandfather. The company wouldn’t grow to fear him and dread seeing nothing but glazed, empty madness in his eyes whenever they looked at him. Bilbo wouldn’t keep waking up when he left in the middle of the night, desperate to feel the weight of coins in his hands.  

There was no door to knock upon, so the first he heard of his visitors was the sound of heavy boots on stone as they came up the long path to the throne. Thorin lifted dry, gritty eyes to watch Fili and Kili emerge from the shadows. He didn’t like them coming here now, to look upon him in this state in this dark place where he would not light torches to chase away his ghosts.

“What?” He snapped, hoping to drive them away before they could try to convince him to come out again.

Kili’s smile was tentative. “Good evening to you too, Uncle. We’ve brought you a present.”

A gift. The only sort of gift Thorin's mind ran to was what he had sought since their arrival. The urge for it had only grown stronger with each passing hour. Even now he stood with the wild hope in his eyes. "The Arkenstone?"

_Please go._

"Ah, no. Not quite. We're still looking for that though!"

It was by rapidly fraying threads that Thorin held on to his temper and he managed to sink back down without shouting or snapping again, but his expression had darkened at his nephew’s admission. "Then what?"

_Don’t look upon me._

Fili stepped forward then, putting himself between his brother and his uncle. Thorin grit his teeth. He was not some sickened beast that his own kin needed to be protected from! Not yet at least. On some level he realized that he shouldn’t have been so harsh with his own blood, but that didn’t make it any easier to keep from snarling at them.

"We simply thought a distraction might be appreciated," FIli said smoothly.

"There is no time for distraction. Our enemies are closing in, they still threaten our lives and until we find the Arkenstone I cannot rest!"

_Leave me here until I can control this madness._

"You don't have to rest! We just wanted to give you something!" Kili shouted, his ears going red and his eyes sharp. "And if you don't want it, maybe we'll keep it for ourselves."

He wasn't being rational; Thorin's sight was edged with black blindness and his frustration was without a leash. A part of him, the sane part, begged for a chance to just send the boys away to spare them the heartache of seeing him in such a state. To save them from being the subject of the foul mood he could barely control. Something won as he looked upon the pair and saw his sister's sons, whom he loved more than he could love anything else. Still they stood by him and tried to bring him some measure of joy when it was clear that he was fighting with invisible foes and lashing out like he had his foot caught in a trap and was bleeding out from it. Thorin sank back and pressed a hand over his eyes. "Leave it and go."

_I couldn’t bear if you hated me because of what I’m becoming._

He didn't see or hear exactly what went on between the boys, but there was a heated bout of whispering and then eventually the sound of their steps as they retreated. Blessed silence returned, though it was dirtied by the golden song in his head. He didn't dare uncover his eyes until the boys had gone. If he saw their backs as they walked away from him he might be overcome and call them back and he wouldn’t wish his poisonous company on anyone right now. Instead he waited before dropping his hand and opening his eyes, praying that no more ghosts would be standing there to remind him that his victory in retaking the mountain was feeling more and more like a hollow one.

It wasn’t a ghost who stood before his dais. Gold and jewels flashed as brightly as stars in the low light and seized his attention. Decorated as he was with finery from the reclaimed hoard, Thorin was struck speechless by the sight of Bilbo Baggins standing alone before him. "Bilbo..."

The hobbit looked up at him through thick eyelashes. Someone had managed to find a stick oh kohl and had outlined his eyes, making them seem so dark and full that they were practically black. Golden rings clattered softly around his ankles as he took a tentative step forward, their noises muffled by his furry feet. No doubt that was why he hadn’t heard the hobbit’s approach. “Your Majesty.”

The dwarf didn't wait for Bilbo to come to him. Instead he got up and walked to the other. Hands rose up to touch the small chains hanging from the hobbit's ears, coming away spotted with blood from the fresh piercings. "You look," those hands moved to trace the fine necklaces and then finally thumbs smoothed over the exposed collarbone and down the bare chest, leaving red streaks in their wake, "magnificent."

_You should be concerned. Concerned, you cold bastard!_

__

Consort by [DragonSapphire](http://dragonsapphire.deviantart.com/)

Bilbo tilted his head away from Thorin's wandering hands to keep him away from his ears, but it was a small enough motion that it went practically unnoticed. "I thought you might like it," he said softly, touching the jeweled belt that kept an emerald green cloth wrapped around his hips. It was sewn through with golden thread and small coins hung off the bottom hem, knocking against one another every time Bilbo shifted his weight.

He did like this sight. Bilbo’s soft, creamy skin was only accented by the brilliant jewels. Thorin’s hands dropped to caress the fine cloth of the wrap and he felt strong thighs beneath it. As his fingers returned to tracing skin, however, Thorin blinked and realized what he was doing. He stepped back, tearing his eyes away. "I'm sorry."

_So sorry. This isn’t me, I know it isn’t, but I can’t seem to remember who I’m supposed to be any more ._

"Thorin." Bilbo said sharply. "Do you really think I'd be here done up like a - a - well, like this if I didn't want to be?"

"You shouldn't have come. I won’t put this on you." His gold lust was supposed to be his burden; he would force it on no one else. Not his temper, not his cruelty, and not his lusts.

He grunted as his beard was caught in a tight grip. There were rings on several of Bilbo's fingers, in gold and silver with multicolored stones that glittered like a rainbow given form. "I put it on myself. Don't be so selfish."

Bilbo's hold on his beard forced Thorin to look again. There he found the Consort’s Ring shining up at him and he could not force his eyes away from it. Never had he seen such an intoxicating sight, but he _knew_ that it would never be.

"You said you could not stay."

"I can't," Bilbo murmured. "Only for a little while."

"Why?" Thorin traced a thumb over the ring.

"Because I love you." Bilbo's hands slipped out of his and the hobbit reached up to cup his face. His skin was cold and the scratch under his eye was brilliantly red against his pale skin. "Please, please come back to me, Thorin. Don't pull away before I'm ready to let you go."

It didn't make sense to him. If Bilbo loved him, if he wore the ring and came to him so willingly and decorated to please him it couldn't be to tell him he couldn't stay. Thorin stepped back, retreating to his throne. This wasn’t something he could face right now. It wasn't good enough. _He_ wasn't enough and what was he supposed to expect? His kingdom was in shambles, war loomed over them and he hadn't even properly reclaimed his birthright as king. He could give nothing to Bilbo, let alone a mountain covered in gardens like he had promised. He couldn’t see beyond his own treasure room right now.

"I do," the hobbit insisted. His bracelets and decorations jingled as he followed at Thorin's heels. "Can't we just have this for now? At least give us this moment before our enemies are at the gate, you – you blind, mud-brained oaf!"

Bilbo rarely swore, so this was quite an expletive for him.

Thorin turned on the hobbit then, his eyes wild as he grabbed the other’s bejeweled arms. He nearly lifted Bilbo right off his feet and his grip was bruising. For a long time they stared at each other wordlessly before Thorin released his hold and sank back onto the throne. He desperately wanted to accept Bilbo's offer. He wanted to preserve this moment and hang onto it until time stopped. But he couldn't have that and would never have it. Instead he felt himself sinking further away and even as they watched each other he felt the void between them grow.

"Please," Bilbo finally whispered. " _Please don't leave me."_

Thorin couldn't open his mouth to respond. He had no words left except hard ones. Instead he reached out as if to summon the hobbit closer. He wanted Bilbo, but he knew he didn't _deserve_ him. Especially not now. But deserve him or not, Bilbo came. Soft, gentle fingers tucked into the palm of Thorin's outstretched hand as the hobbit stepped up to the throne. If there was any fear in him it didn't show on his face.

As he pulled Bilbo closer Thorin's other hand circled around to tangle in the soft curls. He could see a small braid in Bilbo's hair now, fastened at the end by a gold bauble with dwarven ruins stamped onto its surface. "I'm the one who should be begging you to stay."

Like a cat begging to be stroked, Bilbo fit on bare knee between Thorin's legs and crawled into his lap, lips brushing against his neck over the top of his high embroidered collar and then across his lips. At least Bilbo hadn't pierced his lips as well as his ears. For all that his head was full of gold Thorin didn't want the taste of it too. Bilbo's mouth was soft and sweet under his, as if he had been chewing on peppermint leaves. Thorin's hold became almost desperate as he dragged Bilbo close. The kiss started gentle, but escalated quickly after one taste. Bilbo’s skin would be bruised later where Thorin’s fingers dug in, holding tight so Bilbo wouldn't disappear.

There was no cry of 'slow down' from the normally very vocal hobbit. In fact Bilbo was completely silent as his fingers combed through Thorin's beard and caressed the side of his neck as they kissed. His rings were cold, matching his skin.

"Please Bilbo." Thorin pressed their foreheads together to break the kiss. "I need to hear you. Let me hear…"

"I'm here," Bilbo whispered against his mouth. "I'm right here." One of the rings went sliding off his foot and rolled away as he rose up to straddle Thorin's legs. “If things were different I would keep you. We would be so, so happy, Thorin.”

“Tell me,” Thorin begged, feeling feverish. His clothes were too tight; every inch of him felt too hot and icy cold at the same time. Arousal burned through his veins, but Bilbo’s outline had begun to soften as his eyes filled with bitter tears.

“If you weren’t a king,” Bilbo whispered. “You would just be a traveler. A simple smith, passing through on your way to somewhere else.” Trembling hands undid the fastenings on Thorin’s shirt and moved on to his belt buckle. “I would be out in my garden when you walked by.”

“You and your g-garden,” Thorin hiccupped and swallowed his sob. “Hobbit gardens.”

“Yes, my hobbit garden. It would be summertime and everything would be warm and happy, with parties every night. You would have dusty boots and rough clothes and I would invite you in for a cup of tea and scones because you were weary.”

By Mahal, he was weary now. His body was not his own as he tore the belt and wrap from Bilbo’s hips, the soft gold bending under his fingers. It wasn’t thrown away though. In fact he could not release it until Bilbo’s hand covered his own and only then did it go clattering to the dais floor. “And?” He pressed for more, clinging desperately to Bilbo’s words as if they were a lifeline that he could use to pull himself back to where things were safe. To where they were simple.   

“And we would talk,” Bilbo said into his ear, making him shiver as the hobbit undid the laces on his pants. Bilbo was naked except for the treasures he had decorated himself in, the clasps around his upper arms, bracelets, and his new earrings. “We would talk until night fell and then I’d feel obliged to offer you my guest room. It would be rude to send you on your way in the dark and I’m anything but a poor host.”

“No,” Thorin managed. “No, you always took good care of us.”

“I always will. You would stay the night and in the morning I’d find something for you to fix for me. Pots, pans, my creaky front gate, anything and everything that might keep you with me for a little bit longer.” His hands caressed Thorin’s length as he lifted him from his pants, clever fingers touching everywhere he knew the king liked. He was hot and hard and his breaths were ragged. As if to temper that heat, Bilbo was as cool as ice. Thorin couldn’t help but notice that his hobbit wasn’t aroused, even though this sort of play would normally have worked them both up by now. Bilbo had never made a secret of the fact that he enjoyed touching Thorin and being touched and kissed in return.

“Bilbo – “

“You would decide to stop wandering before I ran out of things for you to fix, hush.” Thorin’s lips parted as Bilbo pressed a thumb between his lips, all the way up to the ruby-studded ring at his knuckle. He sucked at it eagerly, tongue circling the ring and tasting the harsh tang of metal. It sent a jolt through him and he stopped trying to talk, not sure what he would have said if Bilbo had let him continue. The hobbit had always done exactly as he pleased and nothing Thorin said or did had ever stopped that. He would not be pressured or cajoled or bribed so even if the company had sent him here as a peace offering to their king, Bilbo would not have come if he didn’t want to.

“We would go down to the party tree together and stay up late reading. I would cook and you would work in the market and we would keep a pony to pull our cart back and forth every day. We would pick apples and sit on my bench out front and smoke.”

Even as he weaved his simple story, Bilbo’s free hand guided Thorin to his entrance and pressed. He was already slick there so he must have prepared himself before Fili and Kili brought him. The memory of Kili threatening to keep their ‘present’ made him bite down hard enough on Bilbo’s finger to make the hobbit whimper. Of course he loved his nephews, but the idea of either of them claiming Bilbo made his blood boil. Bilbo was _his_ and he was willing to fight for him. With that thought spurring him on, he brought Bilbo down onto his lap, hands tight around the hobbit’s hips to keep him still.

This was not sweet. There were no lighthearted touches to be found here except for the ones he imagined. This was rut, the act of a desperate, hungry king to prove that he still had power over the one who shivered and gasped in his lap with every brutal thrust.

 _You’ll break him, you enormous ass. He doesn’t even want to be here, look at him_. _Look how pale he is and how he would rather look at your chest than meet your eyes. He’ll make all the right noises for you because he thinks he loves you, but you don’t deserve it. You’re a filthy beast and you fuck like one too. He’ll never forgive you for what you’re doing to him._

He didn’t stop though. He was far too lost for that. Even when Bilbo’s whimpers turned to quiet, pained cries he didn’t stop. Not for a long, long time until his hips finally slowed and he could feel his spending trickling down his shaft. Only then did lethargy allow him to release his vicious grip on Bilbo’s hips. His mouth gentled and he had some thought to soothing the deep teeth marks he could feel in Bilbo’s finger. The hobbit’s lips were moving slightly and now he could hear the words.

_Love you, love you, love you._

“We would be so _happy_ ,” Bilbo said, his voice weak. “I would keep you forever and after, until we were both nothing but words in story books. The dwarven smith and the hobbit who loved him more than anything else in the world.” Tears began to run down Bilbo’s face, tinted black by the kohl around his eyes and Thorin couldn’t contain the strangled noise that emerged around the finger in his mouth

Like glass his heart shattered into as many pieces as there were coins in Erebor.

“Stay,” he gasped, grasping Bilbo’s wrist and pulling his hand back. Instantly he missed the taste of the ring and knew that he had slipped back another step to his doom, but there was hope in him now. It was a bitter, broken hope but it was all he had. “Stay with me, _please_. Don’t leave me alone.” Wet heat began to spill over his own cheeks to match Bilbo’s.

The poor, ruined hobbit who was curled against his chest nodded. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay…”

The sound of their weeping was lost to the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm going to crawl under a rock and die. Love and kisses to Veskasa for helping me with Thorin's dialogue. Art by me (yes I draw my own fan art). Additional art by DragonSapphire - check out the link under the picture! Absolutely wonderful.


	55. The Black Boar and the Red Tent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mild Violence, Emotional Pain

Early in the morning on the twelfth day Dain II Ironfoot arrived, clad in a thick black cloak.

“Well this is a fine welcome!” The dwarf growled as Dwalin helped him up on the other side of the small passage through the ruins of the front gate. “Down on my hands and knees just to get inside, how do you like that eh?”

“We humbly beg your pardon, King Dain,” Balin said with a smile as he came forward. “We have neither the tools nor the power to open the gates at this time, but soon we should be able to clear away the mess.”

“Ah well, I suppose that’s what you get for lettin’ in a dragon.” Dain cut a mighty figure, even with snow still liberally dusting his clothes and his bristling mane of red, steel-shot hair. His shoulders were wide and solid, as if he could have picked up all of Erebor and carried it on his back without noticing the weight of it. He was built solidly, with a thick belt wrapped around his girth and tattoos on his face. “Bit of a mess!”

“More than a bit,” Dwalin grumbled. “Good t’ see you, Dain. You got fat.”

“And you got bald as an egg!” The king of the Iron Hills roared with laughter and it echoed down the entry hall like a tolling bell. “But that’s what living in peace time will do t’ you! I’m ready for a bit of bloodshed to help me get back into form though. Your brother tells me in his message that you’ve got an orc problem.”

“Azog.”

“That bastard again? Mahal wept, how many times do we have t’ put him down?”

“Once more.” Thorin strode up and clasped Dain’s hand, their forehead’s knocking together with an audible cracking noise. “Dain. It lightens my heart to see you.”

“Too bad it doesn’t do th’ rest of you any good! You look like you’ve been run over by a pack of my battle boars, Cousin.”

“It has been…stressful.” Thorin admitted. “We may not have a dragon to deal with but my ravens tell me that an army of goblins and orcs will soon descend upon my mountain and we are not prepared to deal with a siege as we are.”

“And the Arkenstone?”

“Remains hidden, despite our efforts. Sometimes I think I can hear it laughing at me from wherever it has managed to bury itself.”

“Oh aye, I hear th’ same. Turns out it’s usually my wife snickerin’ behind my back. Cheer up Thorin! I’ve brought five hundred of my best men and their mounts. We’ll drive away those creatures before lunch time and then celebrate by seein’ if Smaug spared any of your mead casks!”

“You always had more optimism than I, Cousin.”

“Ah well, my son Thorin takes after your dour side of the family more than mine. You should’ve seen the look he gave me when I told him that he would remain behind as steward until I returned! You would have thought I’d just told him to go muck out to boar pens naked. Reminded me so much of you that I jumped. Clearly I named him properly!”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted…” Thorin grunted and Dain pounded him on the back hard enough to shatter stones. Luckily dwarf bones were made of sturdy stuff.

“A bit of both, a bit of both! Now let’s see what’s to be done about your wreck. I’ve got Maibe watchin’ over the camp setup out front. No was t’ get everyone in here with your doors like that.”  

“That might be for the best,” Balin said from where he’d been talking to Dwalin. “Smaug may be gone but we’ve had no end of trouble from the spell that still lies heavily on the mountain. Until it washes away I wouldn’t trust many inside. Tempers are running high enough in these halls without adding more swords to the mix.”

Dain’s fearsome eyebrows rose and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Dragon sickness, is it? I’m surprised you aren’t all out front with us to keep away from the toxic stuff! Temptin’ fate, Cousin?”

“And how do you expect us to find the Arkenstone if we’re cowering out front?” Thorin snapped and then grimaced. “Forgive me. I have not felt much like myself lately.”

“Understandable,” Dain said. “But look now, all will be well! Come out and meet the wife. Have a breath of winter air! It’s cold enough to freeze out whatever poison has gotten into you.”

Thorin’s reply was cut off as Dain all but dragged him back through the crawlspace to the outside. Dwalin and Balin followed in short order, though their expressions were grimmer than Dain’s.

Bilbo watched the whole exchange silently from where he sat atop one of the tumbled stones that had once bracketed the great gate. It was a comfortable enough perch as long as he sat on his coat, and he could swing his feet from side to side without worrying about skinning his heels. Bofur’s purloined pipe was between his teeth and a steady stream of smoke seeped out of his nose and mouth. He barely noticed the unpleasant flavor of the dwarven tobacco anymore – all he wanted from the stuff was the pleasant disconnect and mellowness that it brought. It helped him ignore the dark claws that were picking at his heart and the ice that was crystalizing in his blood. The One Ring fit snuggly around his finger, glimmering at him through the haze of whatever grey world it had plunged him into. Things didn’t seem to hurt so much here, or perhaps it was simply that he was slowly becoming accustomed to constant pain. Like building immunity to a poison, you simply ceased to feel its effects as clearly once enough time and suffering had passed.

It was a cowardly act, to hide like this as he smoked himself into oblivion. He would have drunk, but there was precious little of anything worth drinking to come by in these haunted halls. Besides, he doubted he would have been able to keep it down.

Two days Bombur had come upon him, curled up by himself in a comer, retching and crying with the taste of bile and blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten his tongue. The normally jolly dwarf had taken one look at him and scooped him up like a sick child before carting him off to Oin. Bilbo hadn’t had the energy to fight or protest.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with you but what you’re doin’ to yerself,” the healer had scolded him after he poked, prodded, and took Bilbo’s temperature for the better part of an hour. Bilbo had thrown up twice more and had barely been able to keep down water until Oin pinched his nose shut and poured a truly dreadful concoction down his throat. It helped settle his stomach a little but did nothing for the ache that had been eating at his temples for what felt like weeks.

“It’s stress. Throws a body all out of sorts. Keep it up and you’ll get properly sick and be stuck in bed.” Oin wiped off Bilbo’s face with a cool cloth and made the hobbit want to hide from his scrutiny. “I never heard of a hobbit turnin’ into a wraith, but you’re well on your way to it. Keep yourself settled with that tonic and make sure you eat proper and get some sun, up with the birds if you have to.”

Bilbo was thankful that Oin didn’t comment on the finger-shaped bruises that peppered his body. He didn’t need the healer to tell him that he looked like a wraith; he could feel it and see it every time he glanced in the foggy mirror in Thorin’s room. Heavy black shadows surrounded his eyes and his cheeks looks hollow. All of his joints hurt and there was rarely a moment when he hadn’t started to feel ill in either his stomach or his head.

At the soonest possible opportunity after that, Bilbo had picked Bofur’s pocket and stolen both his pipe and the pack of weed that he kept in there and then promptly smoked himself silly up in the aviary where no one would come looking for him. The ravens didn’t ask anything of him or expect him to do ridiculous things like charm a dragon or look after a pack of gold-sick dwarves. They just hoped about and had conversations in languages he didn’t understand and stuck their heads in his pockets looking for corn or bread.

Roäc son of Carc sat with him for most of his time there. The old raven never said a word but simply looked off into the distance as Bilbo stroked his breast and the ruff around his neck.

Somewhere out there beyond the desolation and bare-limbed trees Azog was coming. 

Perhaps this waiting and thinking and sickness would have been bearable if Thorin has shown signs of improvement. That Bilbo could have tolerated. Sadly he didn’t seem to be getting better since Bilbo had come to him in the throne room, but neither had he worsened.

 Thorin would not set foot in the treasure chamber and still spent much of his time confined to the throne room or pacing along the charred battlements, but at least he had begun to come to bed at night. Bilbo wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or not. He doubted either of them got more than an hour or two of sleep anymore. The sound of Thorin’s breathing told him that he was lying awake, plagued by whatever waking nightmares tormented him. When he did come to bed he would lie as far from Bilbo as he could and refused to touch him, perhaps out of guilt for what had happened between them. Inevitably when sleep claimed him he would roll closer and hold onto the hobbit so tightly that Bilbo thought more than once that he would suffocate before the dawn came.

It did come though. Again and again until the morning the clouds were so thick that they blotted out every trace of the sun and the snow came down like it had a grudge against Erebor.

The morning Dain arrived.

“Bilbo?” Bofur slid onto the rock next to him and patted around under he found Bilbo’s hand. The miner’s mittens were soft.

“I’m supposed to be invisible,” Bilbo mumbled around the pipe stem and looked down at his hands to make sure they were still gray and shadowy.

“You are,” Bofur assured him, his voice quiet and sad.

“So how - ?”

The dwarf tapped the side of his thick nose. “Pipe smoke. You smell so strong of it so I just followed my nose.”

Bilbo was too tired and miserable to be alarmed about being found out so easily. He should have thought of that before he tried to hang about invisibly. Luckily Bofur could keep secrets better than most and rarely questioned things he shouldn’t, including why the company’s resident hobbit was see-through.

“Folks are worried about you,” Bofur said. To anyone passing by it would have looked like the dwarf was sitting by himself, mumbling softly. It made a funny enough picture that Bilbo cracked a little smile.

“I would be more worried about Azog than about me. I’m hardly big news.”

“Azog’s in fightin’ form I’m sure. Not you. It’s not like you t’ go off hidin’ from all and sundry. Downright unsociable.”

_“You know, some people are beginning to wonder about you, Uncle. They think you’re becoming odd.” Frodo stood in the doorway, his pale eyes soft and worried._

_“Odd?”_

_“Unsociable.”_

_"Unsociable? Me? Nonsense.”_

“Maybe I am.” Bilbo in the now blew out a plume of smoke that turned visible that moment it left his lips.

“Oin told everyone you’re makin’ yerself sick. Never seen Thorin turn that shade of gray before – just like Gandalf’s hat he was. Fili and Kili ran all about lookin’ for you too.”

“I didn’t want to be found,” Bilbo said shortly. Forsaking the dubious companionship of the dwarves, Bilbo had sought Smaug out again. The dragon, perhaps sensing that Bilbo wasn’t in the mood to trade quips, had simple dozed and occasionally opened one eye to watch as Bilbo sat next to his eggs and hummed some half-forgotten lullaby.

Smaug had scoffed, declared the song ‘silly nonsense’ and wriggled down into the treasure until all Bilbo could see of him was the very end of his nose.

“Gave everyone that idea, yeah,” Bofur continued. “Balin said you’d come wanderin’ out in your own time and we shouldn’t rush you. Guess we didn’t think you’d still be hanging’ about until I got a whiff of my own pipe.”

“Do you want it back?”

“Nah, you’re getting better use of it than me.”

“What was that, Bofur?” Dori asked as he came by with Ori trailing after him and Nori and Gloin behind them. It seemed that everyone had heard of Dain’s arrival and were going out to greet the soldiers and the king from the east.

“Nothin’!” The miner called and waved with the hand he wasn’t using to hold on to Bilbo. “Jus’ thinkin’ out loud is all! You lot go on, I’ll be along in just a wee bit. Waitin’ for the lads.”

“They were up on the battlements,” Ori said. “I think they’ll be down in a minute, they were throwing things at Dain when he came out. Rocks and raven feathers. Have you seen Bilbo?”

“Not a hair,” Bofur answered honestly.

“I hope he’s – quit shoving Dori, I’m coming!”

“Bilbo Baggins can look after himself,” Dori said as he herded Ori into the narrow tunnel out. “If he hasn’t come out yet it’s because he doesn’t want to and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. Now let’s be off!”

“Well that’s nice,” Bilbo muttered after they’d gone and took a deep breath of the pipe. “What if I’d been stuck under a rock somewhere? Good to know I wouldn’t be missed.”

“You’d be missed,” Bofur reassured him. “I’ve got good stone-sense, and Bifur. Fili looks like he’s got a fair bit too. One of us’d know you’d gotten squished. Rock isn’t quiet when it comes crashin’ down on someone. Sends up a racket you’d hear all th’ way in Lake-Town.”

Bilbo made a noise that might have been agreement just for the sake of it, but he doubted Bofur heard because Fili and Kili came tearing down the entrance hall, followed by the rest of the company who were walking at a slightly more sedate pace.

“Dain’s here, Bofur! Fili got a bit of slate right in his beard and he threatened to hamstring us. Did you see? Were you here when he came in?”

“Nah, I came by after. Just havin’ a bit of a sit-down and then I’ll be along.”

“Who wants to sit? There’s an army on the front step and they’ve got tents and banners and these _huge pigs_ that’re as big as horses. Come on, I bet they’ll let me ride one.” Kili was down the hole faster than a rabbit, leaving Fili, Bofur, and Bilbo to stare after him.

“Well at least someone is excited,” Bilbo said.

“Bilbo? Is that you?”

“Oh. Oh drat this damn thing, I keep forgetting…” Now more than a little angry with himself Bilbo yanked off his ring and stashed it in his pocket. Fili stared at him like Bilbo had suddenly turned into one of the pigs Kili was so excited about. Luckily the other dwarves passing through the halls didn’t seem to notice, with the exception of Bifur who simply shrugged and kept going.

“How did you _do that?”_ Fili asked in amazement. “Is it hobbit magic? Can all Halflings turn invisible?”

“Now that would be a trick. No, it’s just a magic ring I picked up along the way. Nothing extraordinary about being a hobbit except for how much we can eat without being as round as we are tall.” The dwarves had known about the Ring last time too – he had revealed himself to them in the dungeons of Mirkwood while getting them free and no harm had ever come of it. He doubted much harm could come of it now, not this far along in the adventure. Besides, Fili knew about Smaug and that would no doubt seem much more important to the prince than the little bauble that let Bilbo sneak about.

“That’s brilliant. Is that how you poisoned Thorin? No wonder he didn’t see it coming.” Fili looked impressed and Bilbo ducked his head and chew on his pipe stem in combined guilt and pride. That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to be known for, but at least Fili wasn’t demanding that Bilbo let him try it on. That would have been a nightmare he wasn’t prepared to deal with. Fili may not have been as affected by treasure and gold as his uncle, but the idea of the Ring of Power in the hands of a dwarf, especially a Durin, was an alarming one.

“It’s really not that interesting. Anyway, why don’t we go see what the entire hullabaloo is about and catch your brother before he gets himself trampled by Dain’s boars.”

“Pony shit, you’re right.”

The young prince ran ahead of them and through the tunnel while Bofur climbed down off the rock and lifted Bilbo off by his underarms. “You sure you want t’ go out?” He asked as Bilbo shrugged into his coat. “It’ll be noisy and crowded and cold and you might get yer toes stepped on.”

“I think my toes have had worse considering they’ve been down a warg’s throat,” Bilbo said sardonically. “A couple of steel boots won’t be as bad as that.”

Bofur looked a bit sick. “Maybe not, but I’m still keepin’ an eye on ye. Come on, you go out first and I’ll bring up the rear.”

“Don’t make that sound so filthy when I know you’ll be crawling behind me…” 

Bofur’s laugh followed him all the way through the tight, rocky tunnel and then out into the snow on the other side.

Erebor’s front path had been transformed into a battleground in the making.

Hundreds of tents had been pitched in the snow, small neat ones that looked like they could house one or two dwarves and huge ones in vibrant colors that could have fit fifty. At the center of the field was the biggest tent of all, a massive structure held up by wooden poles with blood red fabric that had been staked to the ground to keep it from fluttering in the frigid wind.

Bilbo hunched lower in his collar and hugged his elbows closer to himself. Winter had come with a vengeance with the passing of Durin’s Day and the evidence was all around him in the wind and snow.

“Oi! Cold enough to freeze yer tits right off,” Bofur cried as he came out and started slapping the worst of the dirt off the knees of his trousers. “Just watch, mine will crack off and I won’t find ‘em ‘til spring comes.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that and I’m not imagining digging around in the grass looking for your tits,” Bilbo replied.

“Are we talking about tits?” Nori came sidling up behind them, dressed in a greatcoat that didn’t belong to him based on the silver boar crest sewn onto the sleeves.

“No, we were not. Or if we were, we weren’t talking about yours.” Bilbo started forward, leaving the two snickering dwarves to follow after.

Dain’s camp was a hive of activity. Dwarves shouted orders left and right as more tents were raised. Fires were lit, both to warm hands and to repair gear. The stench of smoke and sweat filled the air, along with the baying of hounds and a roar that sounded like monstrous desert cats that Bilbo had only ever read about in books. Dodging under the arms of a dwarf who was carrying spears, Bilbo spun about on his heels and tried to take it all in. Dain had arrived just in time for the battle last time this had come about and Bilbo hadn’t had a chance to see him or any of his men prepare. This time they’d sent word faster and Dain had arrived with haste. This would a battle that would not take anyone by surprise.

At least none of Dain’s soldiers told him to hurry back to his mother. They had duties and places to be and had no time to deal with the hobbit who was wandering about with his mouth open. They were all big dwarves, solid fighting men with hammers and axes and swords as big as they were.

“We need more hands to the barricade!” Someone bellowed. “Get those rocks, starting pilin’ ‘em up!”

“Berg, gimme that spear it’s got a crack.”

“Watch it!”

“Three more tents on the north side, they lost a few when the cart broke!”

“Anyone seen my gloves?”

“You left ‘em on the –

“It’s _amazing,_ ” Bilbo said in awe and nearly walked into a heavy wooden fence that he knew hadn’t been there yesterday.

“Bilbo! You came out!” Kili cried in delight from somewhere above him. Bilbo was too busy staring at the monstrosity that was eyeing him up like he was the first course of luncheon to reply to the prince. 

He had to look up to make eye contact with the boar. Most of its head was covered by a plate helmet with straps running under its jowls to hold it in place, but a pair of small mean-looking eyes glared around it down at the trembling hobbit. When it sorted it blew a fine mist of snot all over him, but Bilbo was frozen in place and barely noticed. Its lips were grotesquely twisted to form around the four huge tusks jutting up from its lower jaw. Ever the smallest tooth was bigger than Bilbo’s hand and looked razor sharp.

At its highest point, the enormous slab of muscle and bone between its neck and shoulder, the boar was as tall as a horse. The thick bristly crest of hair on top of it made it taller.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Kili cried from where he was perched on the boar’s hump.

“Kili,” Bilbo whispered, not daring to break eye contact with the beast lest it sense weakness and run him down, “get out of the pen.”

“What? But I just got in here and the Boar Master said that I could sit on Pyrite. He’s one of the nice ones; they keep the really mean buggers separated from the rest of the sounder.”

“One of the nice ones?!” Bilbo blurted. “He looks like he wants to eat me up and use my bones as toothpicks!”

“They all look like that,” Fili said as he came around the other side of the pen. “Except for the ones who look worse. Fardor, this is Bilbo, Bofur, and – oh did Nori leave? I thought he was with you two.”

“He was,” Bofur said cheerfully from where he was standing behind Bilbo, wisely keeping the hobbit between him and the boar’s tusks. “Ran off t’ cause trouble somewhere, no doubt.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were ‘im,” the dwarf with Fili grunted. “He’s liable t’ lose a hand. We’ve got a couple southern-types along wiff us an’ they don’t take too kindly t’ being meddled wiff.”

“We’ll let him know if we see him,” Bilbo assured them and took a couple steps back from the fence. It didn’t make him feel any safer. Pyrite looked like he could knock the thing down just by glaring at it a little harder.

“Master Fardor is Dain’s head Boar Master. He breeds them and helps train them for work or battle,” Fili said. Kili leaned forward onto Pyrite’s hump and seemed perfectly comfortable sitting on top of an animal that had to weigh a hundred times what he did.

Fardor was short as far as dwarves went, but he had arms that looked like he could take a sword and bend it into a knot. He was fat with muscle and Bilbo was hard-pressed to see a single inch of skin that didn’t have a scar. A couple iron piercings graces the top of his ears and there were matching beads in his gray square-cut beard. Bilbo decided on the spot that he would never get on this dwarf’s bad side, even if it meant sewing his own mouth shut to keep his comments to himself.

“Aye, we ran ‘em all th’ way from th’ Hills. Quartz put his hoof in a hole som-ere and broke th’ whole leg. Had t’ put ‘im down and carry on wiffout, but at least e’ll make good eatin’. ‘Spect they’re cookin’ ‘im up now. Shame.” The dwarf actually looked upset at losing one of his pigs, nearly as much as if they were his children.

 _If he breeds, raises, and trains them he probably considers them that_ , Bilbo realized.

“I’m sorry about your boar,” he said. “Your other ones seem like marvelous creatures though. I’ve never seen anything like them. We have some wild pigs in the forest around the Shire, but the biggest I ever saw only came up to here.” He illustrated with his hand, waving it about as high as his middle.

The Boar Master turned his head and spat. “Those’re pigs. Wee little things for makin’ bacon an’ hash. These’re Iron Hills boars and you won’t see th’ like anywhere else in th’ wide world. O’er there is Agate wiff th’ big hump. He’s a good lad, he is. Seen ‘im run down a mountain cat and stomp it t’ mush for getting’ too close t’ his sows. Then there’s Spinel, Topaz, Jade. Amber we keep by his’self on account of his temper. Keeps tryin’ t’ gore th’ others and that’s no good. Right around here though…”

Bilbo and Bofur exchanged a look as they followed the Boar Master to another pen and Fili tried to pull his brother off of Pyrite with little success because Kili was clinging like a leech.

“This is Beryl. He’s Dain’s mount and as mean as they come. Won’t let no one near, not even me. King’s gotta feed him his’self mornin’ an’ night or else he starts roarin’ his head off and makin’ a fuss by knocking o’er tents and walls an’ anythin’ or anyone else he can get his tusks into.”

Compared to the other boars’ mottled gray and brown coloring, Beryl was almost jet black except for where someone (Dain, Bilbo imagined) had painted on him in silver dye. Sharp geometric designs covered the pig’s sides and his hairy cheeks and they continued up to where his back was covered by sheets of plate armor. He observed them with black eyes and snorted, pawing at the snow. It was like watching a small mountain move.

“Whoops, don’ drop that.” Bofur caught his pipe before Bilbo could send it tumbling into the slush around their feet. “I’ve only got one.”

“Sorry. He’s _amazing_ ,” Bilbo told Fardor, whose beard bristled with pride.

“Aye, fit mount for th’ king he is. Beryl always keeps ‘im comin’ back.”

A dwarf with a heavy plate helmet came puffing up and lifted up his visor so that he could see them properly. “Beggin’ yer pardons Masters, but you’ve been requested in the King’s tent. I’m supposed t’ escort ye.”   

“Will there be food?” Bofur asked with interest.

“Yes’sir.”

“Well in that case, lead on. I’m starved.”

It took them a few minutes to follow the soldier through the ruts in the dirt and snow, around tents and boar pens, and over two recently-erected fences to reach the blood red tent with the gold and gray flag waving from the top.

There were several soldiers, Dain’s personal guards, stationed outside the entrance, all of them armed with a sword at their belts and a spear in the hand. The cold and wind probably snuck inside the joints of their armor, but these were proper soldiers and they were trained to stand against anything without complaint. Not one of them so much as blinked when Bilbo and his companions came trotting up, but two of them did reach back and pull the flaps of the tent open so that they could pass through to the warm inside.

There were at least thirty dwarves inside the tent that Bilbo could see, though more came and went through a small flap in the back so it was hard to get an exact count. A massive table had been set up in the middle of it all, laden with maps and small stone figures of boars and soldiers and towers that reminded Bilbo of chess pieces. A war map. Dain leaned over this, the beads in his beard hanging low enough that they knocked against the oddly life-like statues of orcs and goblins that had been gathered to the northwest of Erebor.

“My wife’s rangers tell me that they’ve come down from Gundabad and taken the north route around Mirkwood. Not as much trouble with the elves up there. But they met up with an army of goblins that came right up out of the ground, usin’ their stinkin’ tunnels no doubt. One day I’d like to flush the lot of ‘em out with a couple bombs and have ‘em met with sharp steel on the other end.”

“We’ll save that for another day,” said Thorin. The king of Erebor stood on the opposite side of the table and was fiddling with one of the stone towers. “For now we have to be ready when they reach us. There’s no chance of going now and catching them unprepared?”

“None. At the speed they’re traveling they’ll be here by midday tomorrow and that’s not enough time to have my troops traveling and armed. The best we can do is dig in and let them smash upon our shields and break themselves.”  

“At least we have this long,” Balin said. There was a dwarf standing beside him that Bilbo didn’t recognize. They had copper, sun-kissed skin and long black hair that had been braided into many small braids and then those small braids were braided into one large one that hung down their back. When they stepped forward Bilbo saw a gleam in it and realized that the whole intricate style was threaded through with small golden spikes. Anyone who thought to grab the dwarf’s hair would be met with barbs and quickly regret the action.

“A few hours are better than none.”

“You speak the truth, my love. I would rather have this day and night than come charging in with tired soldiers and boars half-dead from travel.” Dain caught the dwarf’s hand and raised it to his lips. Bilbo realized this must have been Maibe, Dain’s wife. She had an exotic look about her – there were three golden rings in her bottom lip and another through one of her nostrils that was connected by a fine chain to a clasp in the top of her ear. She wore the same style of clothes as the other dwarves, thick fabrics lined with fur, but she had no armor over the top of them. There was a curved sword hanging from her belt and at least three knives that Bilbo could see.

“Is she one of the southern folk?” He whispered to Bofur.

“I expect so, though I never seen one before. Think her skin looks like that natural or if she’s just spent too long sky-clad?” 

“She’s actually quite pale for a southerner,” Nori said from behind them and Bilbo turned and punched him in the chest for sneaking up on them. Nori just laughed. “I spent some time down south. I expect she’s a bit faded from bein’ inside all winter, her folk can come as black as pitch. You’d think they’d been rollin’ in a coal chute, but that’s just how it is. She’s got two friends o’er there.” He jerked his head towards one of the darker corners of the torch-lit tent and Bilbo realized that there were two more dwarves sitting there, almost invisible in the shadows.

Like the Queen, they both boasted dark skin and black hair. The two of them were lounging on pillows with wine goblets held in their hands, not talking but rather watching everything that went on with sharp, golden eyes. The man was a big dwarf, with bare arms and swirling tattoos. His hair was done back in thick, messy-looking bundles that looked like they’d hang all the way to his waist if he stood up. The lady (or at least Bilbo assumed she was a lady because her beard was short and bound back) had the most intriguing hair he’d ever seen on a dwarf. It was wildly curly and fanned out around her head in a black halo. He didn’t realize that they were staring back at him until Bofur gave him a nudge.

“Look like cats layin’ in the sun, don’t they. Wonder if they’re siblings?”

“Road-wed,” Nori filled in. “Partners. Their names are Ahdri and Telwre and they’re the Queen’s scouts. They’re the ones who brought the news about Azog and the goblins.”

“How do you know all this?” Bofur asked, still watching the scouts who were still watching them.

“I use my ears. Might want t’ give it a try sometimes.”

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo turned and found Thorin standing behind him. Dain was sweeping the figures off his map and rolling up the thick hide. Apparently plans were done for the moment.

“Thorin,” he replied warily.

“I’m glad that you decided to come and visit with us.” Thorin sounded oddly controlled, a stark difference to the hot-temper and dark moods he had favored as of late.

_Because Dain is watching and he doesn’t want to seem weak._

“Kili wanted to see the boars, so I followed after.” Since Thorin was doing such a good job of controlling himself, Bilbo did the same. They might have been strangers discussing the weather for all the warmth there was between them.

How was he to know where things stood right now? Thorin alternately held him so tightly his bones ached from it or avoided him like he carried the plague. It was confusing and stressful and just looking at his tired blue eyes and lined face made Bilbo’s stomach start to turn alarmingly.

“And you? Are you feeling better?”

“Being outside helps,” Bilbo admitted. “There’s a lot to distract me.”

“There is. Dain’s camps are always like this. I remember his father set a similar scene at Azanulbizar when they came to aid our fight. We had been sacking the orc strongholds in the Misty Mountains for nearly six years and then Náin came charging in with his boars and his banners…” Thorin shook his head. “He died in that battle, but the dwarves of the Iron Hills have always been exuberant in war and everything else they do.” 

“Yes, I noticed that when I was wandering. They don’t seem as dour as some other dwarves I know.”

Thorin snorted. “No, they wouldn’t. Dain has called for a meal to be brought in. Will you join me – us?”

Bilbo glanced around, but there was really nothing to draw him away or allow him to decline gracefully. His father had shoved enough manners into his head that he knew when he was trapped by social obligations – one did not refuse to dine with two kings, even if they were dwarven kings rather than hobbits.

“Ah, yes I suppose so. I’m not very hungry though.”

“You’ve been eating the same thing as the rest of us – stale bread and fish. And you’ve probably not been keeping it in well if Oin is to be believed.” Thorin reached up boldly and stroked Bilbo’s cheek with the back of one finger. “I would not see you waste away, _ghivashel_.”

He couldn’t help leaning into Thorin’s touch a little bit, like a sun flower turning towards the sun. Neither of them was entirely well and there had been and would no doubt be further strife between them, but that didn’t change how Bilbo felt about the dwarf. After all, he’d come this far because of his love. He could last a little bit longer and put aside his misgivings for an evening. Any chance to enjoy Thorin’s company while he was pleasant was one he should leap at.

“Alright, twist my arm why don’t you. I suppose you know the best way to keep a hobbit around is to offer him food.”

Thorin’s smile lit up his face. “I had hoped that would be the case.”

Extra chairs were brought in, enough for Dain and his wife, a few of his generals, the entire company and Maibe’s two southern scouts. The two of them settled themselves on either side of Bofur and promptly started plying the miner with wine. Nori managed to end up in Dwalin’s lap and the warrior turned bright red while Dain kissed each of Maibe’s fingers while his wife spoke calmly with the general next to her. Bilbo naturally ended up next to Thorin on the end of one of the benches so he could tuck his feet underneath him and see the top of the table properly. It was hot from the torches and the numerous bodies, but it was a beautiful, friendly sort of warmth that he soaked up eagerly. Soldiers filed in and out, bringing flasks of spiced wine and barrels of frothy wheat beer with them. Every time a glass neared empty it was promptly refilled.

And then there was the food.

Thick crusty rolls and harder trenchers were passed around, and then a thick brown stew filled with fat chunks of pork and crackling fat with potatoes and onions swimming in it. Bilbo picked at it at first, not sure he could handle such rich fare after going so long without, but after a few bites he realized that he might as well enjoy it while it was set in front of him and dove in with gusto. Luckily his stomach seemed to have settled down now that no one’s eyes were on him.

No one’s eyes but Thorin’s, of course.

The stew was followed by platters of blood sausages, kidneys and peppers, mutton in a beer-based sauce, hot roasted root vegetables that tasted faintly of char from the flame they had been baked in, whole roasted ducks, hard-boiled eggs, and flakey fish. Most of the Erebor dwarves turned away the fish; they’d had quite enough of it lately to satisfy them. Thorin would reach across the table when there was something that Bilbo hadn’t seen or couldn’t reach and was extra attentive that there was never a bare spot on his trencher. In a bold move that made Bilbo blush from the top of his head down to his toes the dwarf offered him a piece of tender beef dripping with gravy off the tip of his knife and Bilbo, a little bit tipsy from the several glasses of spiced wine he’d indulged in, was brave enough to lean forward and pluck it off with his teeth.

Thorin was very quiet and pink around the ears after that and Bilbo caught Dain and Maibe watching them with speculative looks.

Bilbo was nibbling on a crusty beef pasty when they brought in the boar haunch.

It was as big as he was and took three dwarves to carry it in on an iron platter and set in the middle of the table. The platter was already swimming with the juices that we running off of the meat and more than one dwarf (and a hobbit) reached forward with their bread to sop up the golden buttery liquid. Dain himself pulled a knife from his belt and sliced into the meat, carving off huge slabs of boar meat that was still pink and bleeding in the middle.

 _At least Quartz came to a delicious end,_ Bilbo thought as he lifted up his plate so that Dain could drop a piece of meat covered with thick crispy skin and a thin layer of marbled white fat onto it. It covered his entire trencher and hid whatever else had been on it before. Clearly it was good to dine at the king’s table. If Dain always ate this well it was no surprise his belt was a little bit tight around his middle. Bilbo decided he would have been as plump as a holiday goose and probably needed to be rolled everywhere like a wine cask. He hiccupped into his coat sleeve and took a swallow of wine to help wash down the succulent boar that had gotten stuck in his throat. A Trickle of wine escaped from the corner of his mouth and he nearly choked on it when he felt Thorin’s whiskery lips press against his chin as the dwarf licked it up.

“You had something there,” the king joked quietly.

“How _thoughtful_ of you to catch it for me.” Bilbo punctuated his works by giving Thorin a soft kick under the bench they were sitting on and both of them laughed.

The feast gave way to dessert and a bit of music courtesy of Fili and Kili, both of whom had wandered in covered in mud and smelling of the pens. Dain gave them both harps and they sang (badly) and played (only slightly better) while the rest of them dined on honeyed pears and puddings made with bread and sweet cream and currants.

The torches burned low and Bilbo’s eyes lowered with them. Thorin tucked his hand at the small of his back to keep him from tipping too far in one direction or the other and eventually Bilbo gave it up as a bad job and propped his elbows on the table to keep himself steady. The wine was making him drowsy and the quiet conversation and laughter was a balm to his raw nerves. It was all so very…civilized.

Or at least it was until the scout arrived.

He came in, escorted by two of Dain’s guards. All of his gear was black and gray, down to the fur that trimmed his thick winter cloak. He would have been invisible among the stark rocky landscape or in the dark of night.

“My King!” He saluted and stamped his foot, snow still decorating his shoulders and the top of his soft leather boots. Bilbo watched him sleepily, wondering what cause anyone could have to interrupt Dain at a time like this. It was growing dark outside already and soon enough they would be arming themselves and preparing for battle. A bit of food a merry-making could not be entirely unwarranted.

“Speak!” Dain commanded from his great wooden chair. His wife set down her goblet and leaned forward, her golden eyes narrowed with interest. “What’s gone wrong now? Another boar stepped in a hole?”

“No, my King. My scouts and I spotted elves on the ridge that overlooks the road on our way back. There’s an army of them, my king. We counted at least two hundred, all armed with bow and sword.”

Bilbo felt Thorin stiffen beside him and buried his face in his arms with a groan. _Damn Thranduil._ Damn him and every elf in his dark, rotting kingdom! Like vultures they’d come circling, no doubt hearing of the dragon’s ‘death’. Whether they thought to parlay with Thorin or threaten him for the riches that lay within the chambers, Bilbo did not know. But they were most certainly throwing a wrench in things and that was not appreciated in the least.    

“Well Cousin, it seems your neighbors have come to visit,” Dain said mildly, lowering his own glass and setting his hand upon Maibe’s knee.

“They are not my neighbors,” Thorin spat and Bilbo could feel the anger coming off of him in waves. “They imprisoned me and my men.”

“They also saved us from wargs and healed my leg,” Bilbo murmured softly, not lifting his head.

“That doesn’t forgive them the crimes they’ve committed against my people!” Thorin rose so quickly that he tipped over the bench and sent everyone who’d been sitting on it tumbling to the floor, including Bilbo. “When we asked for aid they did not answer. When the dwarves of Erebor starved and died in the cold, where was Thranduil and his damn army? If I didn’t have Azog banging on my front door I would run him down and grind him into the earth beneath my boots.”

“You aren’t running anyone down!” Bilbo cried as he picked himself up, swaying with wine and anger. “Don’t be a clot! The elves could be our allies – they hate the orcs as much as you do!”

“Bilbo, hold your tongue!” Balin hissed.

“I will not, I’ve held it for long enough watching the lot of you turn yourselves inside out over shiny stones and a handful of coins! There are _lives_ at stake, Thorin! Yours, mine, your nephews! Your friends!” He seized Thorin’s sleeve. “Talk to him, I beg you! Pay him whatever he asks, it could not make a dent in Erebor’s wealth! If it saves a single life it will be worth it!”

“Do not talk to me of bartering with my enemy!”  The king of Erebor roared, all traces of good humor and flirtation gone as he seized Bilbo by the front of his tunic and lifted him right off his feet. Cries of ‘Thorin!’ filled the tent and several dwarves laid their hands on their sword pommels. All of them had seen how affectionate Thorin had been with the Halfling during the feast and this abrupt change of humor took them all by alarm. Thorin’s madness had returned with a vengeance, spurred on by the thought of losing his hard-won treasure and the arrival of the elves.

Bilbo held tight to Thorin’s wrist and did not struggle. He gazed down at the king’s dark face, a face contorted with rage. A face he both loved and feared like no other. Even Smaug did not strike terror into his heart like Thorin did when he looked upon him with anger.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me speak with Thranduil. Let him _help_ you this time. I won’t watch you die…”  

“Thorin, put the Halfling down!” Dain roared, but it was for naught as Thorin carried Bilbo out of the tent into the rapidly cooling night air. The snow had grown deeper while they feasted and now was almost a foot deep. Still the king did not drop his burglar and Bilbo prayed silently to Yavanna and anyone else who might be listening that he wouldn’t be sick all over Thorin’s front. He doubted it would improve his mood.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Thorin dropped him. Bilbo hit the snow and rolled to his feet, clutching his stomach and swallowing down bile as he looked up at the imposing figure towering over him. They were at the edge of Dain’s camp, at the edge of the torchlight. Behind them Erebor loomed dark and foreboding as a grave stone.

“Never,” Thorin said, deadly quiet, “argue with me in front of my men. Dain’s men. His council.”

“I will argue with you as I please!” Bilbo snarled. “I will do it every day and night if I have to if it keeps you from making decisions that will doom us all!”

“You have no right!”

“I have the only right!” He screamed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the Consort’s Ring so that he could thrust it into Thorin’s face. Even in the dark the emerald gleamed in a rich, dark green like grass and the diamonds twinkled like stars. “When you gave this to me you gave me the right to argue with you and question your stubborn, stupid decisions! I _know_ you hate Thranduil, Thorin! I’m not asking you to set that hatred aside. Let that bitterness eat you up until you turn into a shriveled husk if that makes you happy. But don’t turn away his soldiers!”

“We can finish this without his men,” Thorin growled, opening and closing his hands as if he was wishing he had something to hit.

“Perhaps, but at what cost? Last time you went up against Azog you lost your brother and your grandfather. Will you lose your nephews this time?”

Tension crackled between them. Distantly Bilbo could hear the sound of voices as a small crowded gathered a ways away, watching their spat and he burned with embarrassment. A proper Baggins would have caused a scene.

He hadn’t been proper in a long time though.

“Please,”” He said quietly. “I don’t want to fight with you. Let me go and talk to Thranduil, help him see reason. Maybe he will stand with us.”

The fight seemed to go out of Thorin and it hurt to see his shoulders droop like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“You can’t – you can’t fight with me like that in front of them, Bilbo,” he groaned and scrubbed at his face with the rough palms of his hands. “It isn’t right. I may be doing a botched job of courting you, but we aren’t wed and you aren’t a diplomat. It undermines me for you to question my decisions as if I were a common soldier.”

Shame made Bilbo wince. He hadn’t thought ahead to consider the ramifications of his outburst. Thirty-odd dwarves had watched him lay into the king of Erebor like he would a shopkeeper who had tried to cheat him and Thorin, broken by rage and unable to punish Bilbo since he wasn’t one of his subjects, had acted accordingly.

“It won’t happen again,” he said softly.

“Chastise me all you want in the bedroom or away from prying eyes, Bilbo. But please try to keep your voice down when we’re among dignitaries.” Thorin stepped forward and tentatively cupped the back of his neck. Someone whistled. The seemed to be the sign that the excitement was over because the crowd began to disperse.

“I can’t promise anything,” Bilbo said and licked his bottom lip. “I’m not used to having to think about what I say.”

“You do,” Thorin contradicted him, his hold tightening when Bilbo made no move to pull away. “I see those secrets that make your eyes sad and make you toss and turn in the night. I don’t know what they are yet, but one day I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me.”

Bilbo got up on his tip toes and pressed a soft kiss to Thorin’s mouth. He tasted of spiced wine. “It’s not a matter of trust, my love. Just time. So can I go talk to Thranduil?”

Thorin groaned. “You are relentless. If I forbade you would you listen?”

“Probably not.”

“I had a feeling that would be the case.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was traveling in Cambodia a couple of years ago and a scooter drove by with three pigs on the back. It tipped over and the pigs got free and they were roaring louder than any lion I've ever heard. It was enough to make me want to climb the tree next to me to get away. I can only imagine giant boars sound even more terrifying.


	56. King of Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

The wind reached into his collar and up under the hems of his pants with greedy, icy fingers and made Bilbo wish that he had accepted Thorin’s offered greatcoat before he set out. The thick fabric and fur might have protected him a bit better than his threadbare cotton walking coat. Stubbornly he had declared that the thing would drag a foot behind him and make him look ridiculous, so all he had in addition to his regular garb were Bofur’s borrowed mittens and scarf and a very cold nose. No one was going to be impressed by his appearance, Thranduil least of all.

At least he wasn’t bleeding all over everything this time or leaning on a cane. That was a small mercy.

“Courage laddie,” Balin said and patted him on the shoulder no doubt mistaking his trembling for nerves. Dwarves were made of stronger stuff than hobbits, who most definitely tended towards being more fond of summer. The cold made him stiff-jointed and miserable.

“I have enough courage that I don’t need to worry about using it all up on Thranduil. I was just longing for a warm fire and a nap.” Dain’s feast was sitting like a stone in his stomach along with a fair amount of wine, all of which was vigorously protesting the unexpected exercise. The path to the top of Ravenhill where Thranduil and his men waited was steep and rocky. The gravel had an unfortunate tendency to slide out from underfoot if one wasn’t paying attention and the rapidly accumulating snow made for very slow travel.

Vividly Bilbo recalled the last time he had stood at the top of the rise. Gandalf had been beside him, the smell of the wizard’s pipe weed sweet and mild. Old Toby, the hobbit leaf he had always favored. Beneath them raged what would come to be known as the Battle of Five Armies.

He studiously avoided looking over the edge of the hill as he climbed. Of course the only thing he would see was Dain’s camp sunk in the snow and spotted through with golden-red torches, but there was enough wine in him that he dared not look and risk seeing something else.

A sea of blood and [piled corpses spotted through with dark arrows. Swords lying in the churned mud, dropped by their wielder as they were slain. Severed limbs and cries of pain and loss.

 _It’s just the wind. It never happened. It hasn’t happened yet_ , he chided himself. There was no need to work himself into a frenzy when the battle was still hours away. Dain was here. The men of Lake-Town would answer their call for aid. If Bilbo remembered how to use his silver tongue and played his few remaining cards right they might have Thranduil as their ally as well. It would be enough. It _had_ to be enough. If it wasn’t he didn’t know what would be. There was nowhere else he could think of to look for help.

The dwarf in front of him lifted his torch as they came to the top of the rise. Bilbo didn’t know his name but recognized him as one of Dain’s personal guards. Also with them was Telwre, Maibe’s southern scout. Dain had insisted that they all be equally represented if anyone was going to see Thranduil, just for the sake of presenting a united front. Bilbo had a feeling that Dain would have come himself if he hadn’t wanted to stay with Thorin, since he didn’t seem to entirely share Thorin’s violent dislike of the elves. The King of Erebor was under enough stress with Bilbo going without adding in Dain as well. That might have been the nudge Thorin needed to push him into a complete breakdown.

“Ho, Greenwood Guard!” The guard called.

“So you don’t intend to tromp in unannounced. What refreshing manners from dwarves,” said a voice from behind them and Bilbo turned and found his nose a hairsbreadth away from the point of an arrow.

He squeaked, which was horribly undignified.

 “ _Lower your weapon, Casdir. That is the Halfling that the King spoke of._ ” A second elf stepped forward, walking on top of the snow without leaving a single footprint, speaking in the lilting tones of the elven language. Bilbo heard the dwarves next to him shift uneasily.

“ _I will aim at his companions instead_ ,” said the one holding the bow.

“ _A wiser choice_.”

“ _I can speak Sindarin_ ,” Bilbo said frostily. He had the satisfaction of watching both of the elven scouts freeze at being caught in such a rude conversation.

“Apologies,” said the second elf. He had the same long hair as the rest of his kind and a face so sharp that it could have been used to chop firewood. “We would not have – “

“Please lower your weapons; we’ve come to speak to Thranduil, not cause trouble,” Bilbo cut in.

“Dwarves cause nothing but trouble,” the one with the bow said flatly, but his arrow point lowered until it was no longer pointing at them. Bilbo let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Next to him Dain’s soldier took his hand off the handle of his axe and Telwre pulled her hand out of a hidden pocket in her tunic. Balin seemed to be the only one who hadn’t instantly gone for a weapon.

“If your aim is to speak to King Thranduil, we will escort you,” said the sharp-faced elf. “I am Tatharon, First Ranger. This is Casdir, my ward.”

Casdir glared at them without narrowing his eyes. Bilbo wondered silently if that was a special skill of his or if he’d been born able to. His poor mother.

“Balin son of Fundin.” Balin stepped forward, his boots crunching in the snow. His voice was amiable but his usual smile was absent. “This is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, Telwre of the Southern Kingdom, and Wulf of the Iron Hills.”

“You are all welcome to the Greenwood Guard so long as you keep your peace,” Tatharon said and Bilbo caught the lightning-fast movement as he gave Casdir a kick. The younger finally stuck the arrow back into the quiver on his back, though with obvious reluctance.

“We have one war on our hands already,” Balin said. “I see no need to start a second with the Greenwood. We have no quarrel with the elves tonight.”

That was how Bilbo found himself keeping company with three dwarves and two elves, Tatharon leading the way and Casdir bringing up the rear, as he walked into Thranduil’s camp.

Truly though, he was hesitant to label it a camp. There were no tents or animals like in Dain’s, nor the sounds he usually associated with large gatherings of folk. No fires had been lit save for a few torches that burned at the ends of long wooden stakes, barely enough to light the small rise where the elves had planted themselves.

To Bilbo’s surprise most of the elves had done away with their russet and green garb and instead traded it in for gray, silver, and black. They blended in with the bleak, cold landscape so well that had they crouched he might have mistaken them for stones and looked right past them. None of them were making any effort to hide themselves though.

For all that a few of them were clad in silver armor these were not dwarven soldiers in military-straight lines. The elves were for akin to cats than anything else. They prowled here and there, walking on top of the snow, their pale eyes glittering in the torchlight as they watched Bilbo and his companions pass by. Some of them whispered but their voices were lost to the whistling wind. All were armed with bows and long knives and Bilbo was keenly aware of how quickly they could be drawn if trouble ensued. According to Dain’s scouts that were two hundred elves, but there seemed like many more because they kept moving about and bounding ahead for a second look at their visitors. It made it hard to keep track of them in the snow and dark.

Finally Tatharon and Casdir stopped near the edge of Ravenhill. A cliff fell away in front of them and beneath them was the warm glow of Dain’s camp. Even from where he stood Bilbo could hear the noise of it, the sound of hammers on metal and a roaring that must have been the boars. Had the elves come for battle that had chosen the perfect position – a properly aimed rain of arrows would have crippled the dwarves even with their superior numbers and armor. Dain had chosen it so that he could have solid stone at two of his sides, sides no enemy could approach from. Clearly neither he nor his generals had factored ‘up’ as a direction. It was lucky that neither orcs nor goblins were known as master archers of they might have had a serious problem.

There at the edge, his pale face illuminated by the torches below, stood Thranduil. Next to him stood an elk bigger than any horse Bilbo had ever seen. Its antlers were as wide as the entire creature was long. As they approached it turned and observed them with soft brown eyes, its breath blooming white. Bilbo instantly liked it more than Dain’s painted boar. It was a proper, elegant mount for a king. Behind it Bilbo could see Legolas and Tauriel watching them with thinly veiled curiosity.

“Your Majesty, delegates from the dwarven camp and the Halfling,” Tatharon announced them.

Thranduil turned and Bilbo had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping.

The elven king was always striking. Thousands of years of life had taught him how to hold himself and command respect without having to say a word. Last time Bilbo had seen him Thranduil had been clad in his autumn wardrobe – silver and gold with his crown adorned with fragile red leaves and small berries. Now he was dressed in something more appropriate for winter and war.

All of his armor was silver and steel, spotted with diamonds with engravings around them so that they resembled shining stars. He had a white cape clasped at his shoulders that billowed in the wind, but the fabric that Bilbo could glimpse through the joints of his armor was as black as night. The leaves and berries on his crown had been replaced with ice crystals that seemed to grow up the pale branches into glimmering points. It was as if the king of winter himself had come to investigate to commotion.

Bilbo instantly went down on one knee in the snow, ignoring the hisses from the dwarves.

“Greetings King Thranduil of the Greenwood,” he said formally.

Thranduil observed him with eyes as cold as the weather. “Last we met you managed to liberate a guest of mine that I was not prepared to relinquish. Now I find preparations for war at the edge of my kingdom. Should I assume that you had some hand in these events?”

“A very small hand, Your Majesty,” Bilbo admitted. “For I have very small hands compared to most.” He heard someone behind him chuckle. It sounded like Wulf.

“Indeed,” Thranduil said flatly, clearly not appreciating Bilbo’s attempt at humor. “Rise and tell me why you have come with such company.”

Bilbo climbed stiffly to his feet and tried to ignore his freezing toes. “I half think they came because they thought I would lose my way and tumble from the top of Ravenhill, but I suspect they would deny it.” Balin gave him a soft swat on his arm from behind him and Bilbo cleared his throat. “My companions represent the three dwarf kingdoms that have joined together to fight the menace known as Azog – “

“I know of Azog,” Thranduil interrupted him. “His army passed around the northern border of the Greenwood some days ago, many hundreds of them.”

“And you did nothing to stop or slow them?” Wulf demanded and Bilbo stomped on the dwarf’s foot. He doubted Wulf felt it through his iron boots.

“What would you have had me do, dwarf?” Thranduil snapped, his eyes spitting cold fire. “Take my soldiers and charge into a suicidal battle? I have no love for orcs but they did not trespass on my land nor harass my people. I would not have my kin needlessly sacrifice their lives in a war we have no part in.”  

“No part?” Bilbo repeated. “Of course you have a part! I have a part and I don’t even live on this side of the Misty Mountains!”

“Perhaps it is not wise to raise one’s voice in front of a king with whom we would form an alliance…” Telwre’s voice was deep and her hand at Bilbo’s elbow was strong. “Or at least not to his face.”

“I’ve shouted at more important people.” If Thorin counted as more important people, that was. Bilbo shouted at him all the time these days.

“Let him speak,” Thranduil commanded and Telwre’s hand fell away. “I would hear why I am expected to take part in a fight that was never mine. It was not the elves who disturbed the orcs of the Misty Mountains, nor who stirred them to such a fury that the worst of them put a blood price on the heads of the entire line of Durin in retaliation for the violence against his kind. I can find very little sympathy for the dwarves of Erebor. In fact I would say that they deserve the fate they have brought upon themselves.”

Legolas and Tauriel had moved in a little bit closer, though both of them were doing their best to act as though they weren’t blatantly eavesdropping. Both of them were dressed in white and silver, though their armor was lighter than Thranduil’s.

“The Misty Mountains were not theirs to claim!” Balin said. “They stole the land from the dwarves and moved in as unwelcomed guests. Were we supposed to leave them be when we wandered homeless and hungry?”

“What’s done is done!” Bilbo interjected before a full blown argument could break out. “And no one can change it now. We might be able to avoid pointless deaths if we can work together now.” He turned to Thranduil. “The orcs won’t stop with Erebor if they triumph here. They’ll dig into the mountain, infest it, and then move on to Lake-Town and the Greenwood. If you thought you had a problem with giant spiders, just wait until you have a thousand armed orcs chopping down your trees and setting the forest on fire to smoke you out.”

The two younger elves both looked grim and Tauriel laid her hand on the pommel of her sword as if she wanted to dare them to try.

Thranduil however remained unmoved. “If they come they will die. The orcs do not know the forest or its dangers as we do. One of one thousand, it will make no difference.”

“And what about two thousand?” Bilbo pressed. “Three? Will it take one hundred thousand orcs to show you that evil is creeping back into the world?” He pointed into the darkness behind him, in the direction of the forest. “It has already come! Your forest sickens and is turning into something poisonous and twisted and you have done nothing to stop it. The air is full of toxins and the ground teams with spiders. Your road crumbles. The water is cursed. That is not a kingdom I would be glad to rule, begging your pardon.”

“Do you _know_ that this war will come into the Greenwood?” Thranduil pressed.

Both of them knew what he was actually asking. Had Bilbo seen Erebor fall and the orcs spill over into Thranduil’s kingdom?

“No, I don’t know. Seeing every possible outcome of the future isn’t a talent of mine. I have eyes to see though, and only a fool would be so blind as to think they would be unaffected by what is going to happen here.”  

“You dare call me a fool?” Thranduil’s voice was deadly quiet and Bilbo could have kicked himself for not watching his words more closely.

“No, Your Majesty. Never. I’m simply trying to press the importance of this battle. Your aid could be vital to our victory here.”

“You have already pointed out the struggles we face at home. Now you want me to fight in a war on top of that? You presume much to think that I will do this, Twice Born.”

Bilbo felt Balin stiffen next to him but the dice had been cast. He would have to deal with what had been rolled later.

“I like to imagine that most folk will do the right thing without needing to be asked, but I find that’s a trait usually found in children and dreamers. You see the mountain behind you?” He nodded at the black outline of snowy Erebor.

“One would have to be a blind fool to miss it,” Thranduil said, tossing Bilbo’s earlier words back at him.

“Right. Well it’s full to the brim with treasure. Smaug dug it out of every nook and cranny and piled it all up in his chamber as the richest bed you’ve ever seen. In some places it is so deep that you couldn’t hope to find the floor underneath it. All manner of treasures, Your Majesty. Emeralds like grass and diamonds that are brighter than the stars and bigger than my fist.”

If he hadn’t had Thranduil’s undivided attention before, he did now.

“You seek to buy my aid now?” The elf asked softly.

“I know what it’s like to crave beautiful things. I’ve done it myself. I am promised a fourteenth share of all the treasure in Erebor, anything I desire or could possibly dream of. Half of it I have already signed away to Bard, kinsman of Girion, to rebuild Dale in return for the help of the men of Lake-Town. I would offer the same to you, King Thranduil. I still have one half left.”

Luckily there were no protests from the dwarves. Even if they disagreed, Bilbo’s share was his to spend as he saw fit. If it went towards two hundred elf-wielded bows and blades to help them fight, who would naysay him?

“Do you know what you offer me, Twice Born?” Thranduil asked. “With that wealth you could buy an army of your own to fight wherever you wished.”

“Yes, but there’s no army around at the moment for me to hire, is there? You’re here, so I’m offering it to you as a show of goodwill if nothing else. This could be the first step towards healing the breach between Erebor and the Greenwood, Your Majesty,” he pleaded.

Thranduil was quiet for a long time. The wind tore at his hair and cape and flakes of snow clung to his eyebrows and lashes.

“ _Ada_ ,” Legolas said softly.

“I do not deny that I long for the treasure that you would give me. I have not lived as long as some of my kin, nor is my wealth as large as theirs. But I will not accept.”

“But – “

“Ada, you can’t – “

“My king!”

“I will not!” Thranduil said in a voice that brooked no argument. “I would not risk the lives of my men against a dragon, not will I endanger them in a battle that is not ours, no matter what you say. No amount of treasure is worth the life of my son.”

“King Thranduil, if you would only – “Bilbo started, panic making him hasty.

“I will not reconsider!” Thranduil said more loudly. “The elves of Greenwood have always been here and we have weathered worse than Azog. We cannot continue to do so if we are dead. Any alliance between my kingdom and Erebor has long since dissolved. Now be on your way, I will have no further dealings with the dwarves or any Halflings that accompany them. I came to see what was transpiring and now I know. By morning we will be gone.”

Tatharon and Casdir stepped forward at that. They had been formally dismissed and their escorts were there to lead them away, peacefully or not.

Bilbo’s heart felt as heavy as a stone in his chest as they turned away. Should he have offered Thranduil the Arkenstone that even now lay snuggly beneath Smaug’s brood? No, that was one betrayal that he would never repeat. It was the heart of the mountain and in belonged in dwarven hands only.

He had failed. All of his arguments and offers had been useless when faced with Thranduil’s unwavering loyalty to his people.

 _He would let every dwarf in Erebor die rather than risk his only child,_ he thought. It was admirable and in any other situation he would have. Right now it felt like a hammer coming down, pounding a nail into the lid of his coffin.

Thorin wouldn’t be surprised. He’d take this as another slight against the dwarves. _Of course_ Thranduil wouldn’t stand with them, he’d say. He would never consider lifting even a single fingerin aid. The hatred between the two kingdoms would only grow if they were victorious. Twice Thranduil had been asked for help and twice he had denied them. It was unforgiveable, as far as the dwarves were concerned.

He steps were heavy as he walked through the path Wulf had cleared in the snow, stepping in the dwarf’s footprints.

“Well, you tried. Can’t say I expected anything t’ come of it, but you gave it your all.” Balin walked next to him, his heavy red robes gathering snow as he went. “Such is the way of elves, to be fickle in their friendships.”

“He isn’t fickle,” Bilbo sighed, wrapping Bofur’s scarf a little tighter around his neck. It felt suspiciously like a noose. “He’s afraid for his people. Anyone who charges into battle without that concern…” He trailed off, remembering how Thorin and the company had rushed in with their swords drawn. Has they said their farewells before they went or had they thought themselves immortal? The unbreakable dwarves of Erebor….

“And do you speak from experience?” Balin asked mildly. Suspiciously so.

Bilbo glanced at him. Wulf’s torch lit the way so that they could see. “I do.”

The dwarf nodded. “I always thought there was something off about you, Bilbo. From the moment you opened your door to us all the way back in the Shire.”

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked, a bit insulted at being called ‘off’. It was as bad as ‘odd’ or ‘unsociable’.

“I’ve met a hobbit or two in my time. They tend towards being suspicious of strangers and not at all fond of danger or travel. Yet you greeted us like old friends and fed us and signed onto our quest without so much as batting an eyelash.” Balin harrumphed to himself. “I shouldn’t be surprised it turned out to be like this. You always knew a bit too much or were a little too worried or sad. Like you were remembering some tragedy.”

“So you aren’t going to pick me up and shake me for not coming forward right away?” Bilbo asked as they reached the bottom of Ravenhill. Tatharon and Casdir left them there and watched as they started back towards Dain’s camp. Wulf and Telwre were walking a little ahead of them, talking quietly in Khuzdul.

“I imagine you’ve had enough of that for one evening,” Balin said kindly. “How did it happen?”

“Old age. Very dull, I know. I was one hundred and thirty one.”

“Eighty years from now…” Balin mused. “A long time for a hobbit, not as much for a dwarf.”

“It was more than long enough, thank you.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Ori does, for a while now.” Bilbo ticked them off on his fingers. “Gandalf, Elrond, Thranduil obviously, Nori, and Fili too, but those last two were accidental. I’ve tried to be careful. I suppose Thranduil didn’t think to extend the same courtesy,” he said a little bit bitterly.

“Aye, well, elves can be like that.” They walked in silence for a moment. “So Thorin…?”

“Doesn’t know, and I’ll thank you not to tell him.”

“He needs to know, Bilbo.”

“I know. Just – just not yet. He wouldn’t understand, you see? If he knew, somehow it would turn on me for not doing enough. We were captured and attacked over and over and people were hurt. It would be my fault for not stopping it, even though I did. It was different this time and even though I tried to fix everything it never turned out the way I wanted it to. Sometimes it was worse. I don’t want that sort of strife between us, not when we’ll be fighting tomorrow. It would be a distraction.”

Balin didn’t look happy about that, but he nodded. “After the battle. It isn’t fair to either of you to keep living in such a way.”

“I know.” He knew better than anyone.

Soldiers marched by them and the normal sounds of the camp returned. It was almost a relief after the abnormal silence of the elven guard. Bilbo almost missed Balin’s soft laugh.

“What?”

 “A sudden realization,” the old dwarf said with a smile. “We all thought you were a widower. It was Thorin the whole time, wasn’t it? No wonder you looked at him like he threw the stars into the sky.”

“I do not!”

“Well not right now you don’t. He has his flaws and I’ve heard it said that distance makes the heart fonder.” They turned a corner and Bilbo saw the great red tent in front of them.

“I don’t think so; he’s the same as he ever was. Stubborn and too brave for his own good.” Nothing would ever change that about Thorin, no amount of gold or madness would change what he was at the center. Maybe that was why he stayed, even when faced with such an agony of the heart. Love was love, even when things grew dark. He looked over at Balin as they drew level with the entrance of the tent. “I’m going to protect him.”

Balin looked at him seriously. “I know. You have that resolve about you. But who will protect you?” He ducked inside before Bilbo could reply. He had a short respite before Thorin discovered who and what he truly was, but that was a matter of days. Hours even.

 _Don’t think on it now. Don’t think on it at all. What will happen will happen and there’s nothing you can do about it._  

He stepped into the tent and was instantly assaulted by overwhelming warmth and the sound of voices. A hand caught his arm and he looked up into blue eyes.

_There’s nothing you can do now._

“Bilbo?”

“I’m tired,” he said and Thorin’s grip softened. “I’m so tired…”

“You’ve done enough, _ghivashel_. Let me take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what guys? Starting with the next chapter everything really goes to hell. Enjoy!


	57. Truth and Broken Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Violence, Emotional Pain

The arms around Bilbo tightened as they both jerked awake.

“Horns?” Bilbo asked groggily, rubbing at his eyes and fumbling for the oil lamp on the table that sat beside Thorin’s oversized bed. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” growled Thorin from behind him and Bilbo yelped as he threw off their blankets and a cold cave air rushed in to fill the space. He finally got the lamp lit and quickly dragged the sheet back up again.

“What’s happening? Is something wrong?” The horns were loud enough to reach them even in this deep chamber, echoing through the empty halls of Erebor. If they reached Smaug underneath his gold, Bilbo hoped the dragon wasn’t curious to come and investigate the noise.

“Those are the war horns and they are only sounded in the hour before battle to call troops to arms.” Thorin struggled into his pants and tunic and had to sit on the floor to get his boots on. “It’s too early! If Dain is having a go at us just to see us come rushing out in our smallclothes…”

“I don’t think he would do that,” Bilbo said soothingly as he climbed out of bed and started searching for his own clothes. “He might be your family but I don’t think anyone has a sense of humor like that. Where are my pants?”

“I put them on the chair with the rest of it. We need to find you some armor.” Thorin finished lacing up his boots and pointed at a neatly folded pile of clothes on the wooden chair in the corner.

He had stripped Bilbo last night after they had gotten in and Bilbo had been too drained to be annoyed about it. Thorin must have been able to tell, because his hands hadn’t wandered and he had barely spoken beyond a few murmured reassurances before he had all but pushed Bilbo into bed and covered him from head to toe in the old blankets. They had nearly lost their musty smell by now. He hadn’t said anything about Thranduil or the elves who were surely gone by now. It seemed that being out of the mountain, away from the gold and in the company of the dwarves from the Iron Hills, had helped to ease the hold the sickness had on his mind a little bit if his oddly good temper was anything to go by.

“I don’t think anything will fit me,” Bilbo said as he stepped into his clothes. “I’m not exactly dwarf-sized. Besides, I don’t plan on ending up on the wrong end of anyone’s blade. I’ll stand in the back and throw rocks.” In reality he planned to be right behind Thorin with Sting in one hand and his needles in the other, but he didn’t think Thorin would take that very well. A little bit of armor might be in order after all.

“No one ever plans on getting stabbed, _ghivashel._ I would still see you protected and not have to worry in the midst of battle about you not wearing anything but your vest.”

“I’ll have pants on too, thank you very much. Only my vest indeed…” He winced as his shirt got caught on his new earrings and gingerly touched the red skin around them. It was swollen and had a tendency to bleed if he tugged on it at all. Overall they hadn’t been one of his better ideas, but it had been a sacrifice he’d been happy to make to help lure Thorin out of his gold-induced stupor. If he ever went home again he would probably scandalize the neighbors with them.

_This is your home now, ninny. You promised you’d stay, remember? Better get used to the idea._

Of course, Erebor might only be ‘home’ for a little while once Thorin found out about him. After the battle he would have to tell him about Smaug in the treasury and how he’d known all along what was going to happen (for the most part) along the way. If Thorin was in a reasonable state of mind he might not throw Bilbo from the top of the battlements. He glanced over at the dwarf king’s back and stifled a sigh.

He wasn’t afraid of living alone. Eventually Frodo would come along and he had found light in watching him grow up into a fine young hobbit. He hadn’t come this far with the intention of staying at Thorin’s side or of having the dwarf love him. Indifference was easier. As long as the Durins lived through the day he would accept any sort of punishment they decided to sentence him to for his betrayal.

As long as they were alive.

There came a pounding on the door as the most recent horn blast faded away and Thorin wrenched it open with one hand while he finished buckling his belt with the other. “Report!” He snapped at the dwarf standing there. Bilbo recognized Wulf as he peered around Thorin.

“Sire, King Dain has sent me to tell you that Azog’s force has been spotted no more than a mile off. They must’ve run through the night t’ make it here so soon. Th’ troops are gatherin’ out front and makin’ lines and Dain says t’ gather up your lot and grab a sword. There’s not as much prep time as we thought we’d be gettin’ this mornin’.”

“We’re getting none!” Thorin said irritably. “Tell Dain we’ll be out before the first orc passes Ravenhill.”

“Yes Sire.”

“Damn those orcs and goblins and whatever else they’ve managed to dig up to the darkest pits!” Thorin’s steel-capped boot collided with the door as he gave it a hard kick once Wulf had gone. “Azog is running them like dogs so their blood will be hot when they get here. Tired muscles don’t matter when you have his numbers…”

Bilbo set his hand at the small of Thorin’s back and rubbed comforting circles against it. He knew as well as Thorin did that if there were indeed goblins in Azog’s army, they would not be an easy foe to defeat. Seasoned warriors they might not be, but with goblins it was most definitely quantity over quality. When one fell three took its place and eventually they would overwhelm even the most powerful fighter. It would not be an easy battle for either side.

“We’re well-rested enough to handle them. Dain is here and the men from Lake-Town should be soon too.”

“And Thranduil will be well on his way back to his damn trees,” Thorin growled. “Come; find the rest of your things. We will fetch you something to wear and then join Dain outside. If Fili and Kili are still in bed I might have to disinherit them…”

“I’d still be in bed too if I had my way,” Bilbo mumbled as he finished lacing up his trousers and grabbed Sting in its scabbard and the belt that he had strung the needle pouch onto. He had lost a fair few of them when he had been attacked by the white warg, but there were still enough left to be useful if he got into a pinch. “I don’t suppose we can all just stay there and let Dain handle the business of fighting?” He asked in mock hope.

“No.” Thorin was already walking out into the corridor and Bilbo was left to follow after.

“I didn’t figure so. Good morning!” He called to Fili and Kili as they stumbled out of their own room, pulling on pieces of armor and trading helmets.

“It’s not morning, it’s some nasty hour in the middle of the night,” Kili said groggily and leaned on Fili so that he could put on his socks. Fili yawned and wobbled and nearly sent them both to the floor.

“Orcs don’t move on any schedule of ours. Come, I’m going to the treasure chamber to find our burglar a shirt of mail and then we will join Dain out front. Do you have your weapons?”

“No Uncle, I’m afraid they were stolen away in the night. We’ll be forced to fight with our wits alone.”

This time Fili stepped away and really did let his brother topple over. “We have them,” he assured Thorin. “And a few extra for good measure.”

“Excuse me!” Bilbo said, raising his hand once he had helped pull and cursing Kili to his feet again. “I don’t need a mail shirt, I’m sure Dain has a spare helmet or two somewhere. Truly, I’d much prefer not to be wearing armor with a dragon curse on it if it’s all the same to you.”

“If we had an hour or two more we might have been able to find you something from Dain’s armory, but all of his troops are busy and any spare armor will have already been claimed. Now we must be on our way or risk missing the start. If Dain begins the charge and I am still loitering about in the mountain arguing with my company I will never hear the end of it.”

“Thorin - !” He shot Fili and Kili a helpless look before rushing off after their uncle. A moment later he had them following along behind. “Thorin truly, I don’t want to go to the treasure chamber right now and I don’t think you should either. What if it enchants you again? That can’t be healthy right before a battle.”

“I know what gold sickness feels like,” Thorin said, not altering his path even as Bilbo came up beside him and tugged at his sleeve. “I feel it even now. It never leaves me; it only lessens with distance and good company. I think a few minutes in the presence of that hoard can’t make it any worse than it already is. Besides,” he glanced down at Bilbo. “I would risk it to make sure I have clad you properly. Stop trying to dissuade me, Bilbo.”  

Bilbo wanted to scream in frustration but he held it back. “You have the thickest head from here to the sea!”

“So Dis tells me on a regular basis. Ah, here we are.” The rest of the company had gathered in the front hall, through which they had to pass to get to where Smaug had piled up the riches of Erebor. All of them were clad in their own armor, either claimed from the dragon’s hoard or borrowed from Dain. Bilbo saw a few boars engraved on breastplates here and there and felt slightly better about seeing the company dressed in honest steel rather than anything Smaug might still consider his. Many had hauberks of steel mail and thick metal boots to keep their ankles from being sliced at and had helmets tucked under their arms. Although there were only a few of them they seemed as unbreakable as an entire army.

“Dain plans to lure them into the arms of the mountain and then run them down,” Balin was telling the others. “But I fear the goblins more than all of the orcs, for there are enough of them to overrun the mountain and they can scale stone like spiders, so we will have to take care that they don’t get in behind us or we may be trapped between the two. No amount of boars will help us then.” 

“There are enough archers to pick them off if they try,” Thorin said and the other dwarves looked up. Their faces were grim.

“Aye, perhaps a hundred. I wish that we had five times that number.”

“And I wish there was no battle to be fought, but wishing never did anyone any good. My friends, we have come this far and I cannot ask you risk your lives again for our cause – “

“Ah shove it, you don’t have to ask.” Bofur’s voice echoed from inside his close-faced helmet. “We’d do it anyway. What’s a good adventure without a fight t’ cap it all off, eh?”

There were murmurs of agreement from most of the others, though Bilbo saw Ori take a half step closer to his brothers. Most of these dwarves had never fought in a true battle before they started this quest. They weren’t warriors, though they were brave and strong enough that they could have been. These were merchants and craftsmen for the most part and yet they were all willing to plunge headfirst into a fray that they might not emerge from. They loyalty that he could see shining in their eyes behind their helms was enough to make his heart swell with pride that he could consider himself among their numbers. He wasn’t a warrior either, but they were his friends and for them he would happily draw his sword and fight to protect what they believed in. It was simply what you did for those you loved.

Thorin nodded humbly. “Then I won’t ask. My friends, it has been an honor fighting by your side and if I do not see you at the end of this battle, may we meet again in the Halls of Waiting and there stay together until the world is renewed.”

Shoulders were clasped at that and foreheads touched through helms. Bilbo was certain that he had a dent on his skull, so fiercely had a few of the dwarves said farewell to him.

“You won’t die!” He wanted to cry after them as he watched them file out through the small opening to where Dain and his army waited. “I promise you won’t!”

But he didn’t. Death had seen fit to pass them by last time and he could only pray that it would turn a blind eye again and see them all come through with all of their limbs intact and their blood still flowing through their veins. Tonight when there came victory songs around campfires, they wouldn’t be tempered by grief or mourning. Not for the company and not for the Durins.    

“Bilbo?” Kili asked from behind him. “Are you coming?”

He straightened his spine and tried to imagine that his bones were made of mithril. “Of course I am. I’m half Took – as if I’d let you lot plunge into battle without me.” He blinked hard and any moisture that had been building in his eyes at watching his friends leave was quickly dashed away. He would see them all again, without a doubt. Thorin’s hand caught his and he was forced to follow along with the three dwarves as they made for the treasure chamber.

“I want you two to look after each other, if we get separated,” Thorin was telling his nephews. “I would tell you to stay in the back if I thought you would listen, but since I know you won’t I won’t waste my breath. I can’t promise that I will always be beside you if things turn sour.”

“We’ll take care of each other,” Fili said soberly, his shoulder nearly brushing his brother’s as they walked behind Thorin and Bilbo. “Look after your own neck, Uncle.”

“I’ll look after it for him,” Bilbo said and both princes smiled. “I mean it! Don’t joke that I’m not tall enough to see his neck or I’ll give you both a good swat.”

“We would never!” Kili tried to sound affronted that Bilbo would dare to suggest such a thing but failed miserably. “Alright, so I might have thought about it.”

“Just for a second,” said Fili and they both snorted.

“Enough joking around, we only have minutes. See if you can find Bilbo something he won’t trip over.” They had come to the treasure chamber. The metallic smell of it was sickening to Bilbo now that he’d had a breath of the crisp outside air again and he wanted to cover his nose and mouth with his hand. Thorin was still holding onto it however, so he tried to breathe through his mouth so he wouldn’t have to take in the hot stink of it.

“A mail shirt with a belt will do well enough; can we be quite quick about it? I don’t like it here.”

“Nor I,” Thorin said quietly. “Nor I.”

The gold closed around their feet as they stepped into it. Bilbo wondered if Thorin was thinking about the Arkenstone, still buried, still out of his reach. It was the one treasure he knew the dwarf wanted for himself, not just for its beauty but also for the power and status it represented for his line. The king of the mountain should have its heart.

“I think I found something!” Kili called and held up a silver-steal mail shirt that Bilbo instantly recognized. It was the mithril coat, with its belt of pearls and crystals that he had passed on to his nephew when he went off to destroy the Ring. He had forgotten about it up until now, so greatly had all of his other troubles pressed on him.

“That will do very well.” Thorin reached out a hand to take the coat. “He has more than earned it. Here Bilbo, quickly, take off your coat and put on this instead and we will find you a helm to match – “

This time the war horn blast was accompanied by a noise that made Bilbo and the dwarves freeze as if they had all been doused in ice water. It was a metallic roar from up above them as one of the mountains of treasure crumpled in on itself, sending thousands of pounds of gold and jewels tumbling down in a wave. Fili shouted in alarm and both princes dashed out of the way of the avalanche, which would have surely crushed them flat had they been caught in it.

“What brought that on?” Kili cried as they clambered back up the steps to where Thorin and Bilbo waited, the mail shirt still clutched in his hand.

“These piles are unstable,” Thorin scolded the two of them. “Move the wrong piece and any one of them might come crashing down. We need to have more care with what we move and – Bilbo? Bilbo here; put this on.” He took the shirt from his nephew and thrust it at Bilbo, but Bilbo did not reach up to take it and the shirt went slithering to the gold-strewn floor between them. He could not move, so great was his horror. The Durins stared at him for a moment and then as one turned to see what his eyes were fixed upon.

There, from top of the pile that had collapsed, was visible a red scaled claw. Another emerged from the shadows above them and wrapped around one of the great pillars, obsidian claws digging deeply into the stone and making it crack all the way down to its base. Another heavy wave of treasure came pouring down as Smaug heaved his enormous bulk up onto the top of the mountain, his tail slithering around from the other side like a sinuous snake tipped with spikes longer than Bilbo was tall.

The dragon’s glowing eyes were fixed on them and his chest glowed amber with the fire burning inside of it.

“Well Summer Creature, what have you brought for me?” The dragon flared his spiked crest, his razor teeth shining in the light from the torch scones. “A gift? A few little playthings? Or perhaps a snack…” Like oil Smaug swam down the side of the mountain of gold, his wings tucked against his sides as he came closer. Fili and Kili were rooted in place, their eyes as wide as dinner plates. True, Fili had already known that the dragon still dwelt in the chamber, but he had only seen Smaug from a distance. Now his attention was on them and he was much, much closer. Bilbo could smell him – like hot sand and a bitter wind.

Thorin’s hand was as tight as a vice around his.

“Run, on my word,” he breathed. “Back to the entry hall. Don’t stop.”

“What was that?” Smaug crooned. “Are you going to run from me, Oakenshield? I’ve heard all about your adventures from your little friend here and your chatty birds as well. King of the Mountain! _Ha_!” Smoke seeped from Smaug’s throat as he laughed, his eyes glowing with mirth. “There was only ever one ‘king’ here and I will not suffer those who think to might usurp me. Have you come to pledge yourself to me, dwarf? To gaze upon my magnificence?” Ever vain, Smaug arched his neck and turned ever so slightly so that the torchlight made his scales seem molten with the gold lodged between them and the dragon’s own inner light.

“There’s a battle going on!” Bilbo cried and then yelped as Thorin wrenched him back a step.

“A battle?” Smaug said with interest. “I do love a good fight. So many corpses that won’t fight or scream as I swallow them…That must have been the sound that awoke me, else I might have slumbered through the entire thing. What a shame that would have been.”

‘You have no part in this!” Thorin shouted up at the dragon and Bilbo saw an alarming red flush begin to creep up the side of the king’s neck, a sure sign that his blood was beginning to rise. “You are not welcome here and had I know you still dwelt within my halls I would have slain you myself!”

“With what?” Smaug laughed. “Your sharp tongue? Your sword?” With a rushing noise Smaug lowered his head until his eye was mere feet from where they stood. Bilbo heard Kili yelp. “It would be nothing more than a pin prick to me. Did your friend tell you I was gone? That I had left you all of your gold and hied elsewhere for better pickings?” When no one replied the dragon laughed. All four of them took a step back as his hot, fetid breath washed over them. “Dead, then! You must be so disappointed to find otherwise.”     

The eye turned to Bilbo and the cat slit widened. “So devious for one so small…What other lies having you been feeding them? After all, they can’t tell the difference like I can. Dwarves will swallow anything you feed them, won’t they?”

“No, it isn’t like that! There just hasn’t been time - !”

“Now you have a battle that would have given you even more time! Were you hoping that your companions would die in the fray so you would never have to tell them what you promised me?”

“Do not speak to him, you were promised nothing!” Thorin bellowed up at Smaug even as he drew his sword to brandish at the dragon’s eye and pushed Bilbo behind him.

“Thorin wait, he’s not going to – “

“Stop. Talking.” The dwarf said through gritted teeth. “Fili, Kili, go now.” There was something in his tone that rang as sharp and strong as his blade and neither of his nephews dared say a word as they backed up step by step until they were out of sight. “If I didn’t have a war going outside out my gates, monster, I would deal with you here and now.”

Smaug snorted in amusement and drew himself up to his full size, wings spread and his tail coiled around the riches at his feet. “And do what? Turn your army against me? Drive me out? You have forgotten how easily I routed you and all of your wretched kind when I first came. I am even older and stronger than I was then and my hide is thick with your gold. Or would you like another demonstration?”

“Let’s go now!” Bilbo cried and heaved on Thorin’s arm to drag him backwards. “We can come back later and talk about living arrangements like civilized folk!” He had seen the flames building in Smaug’s breast and knew that no situation had ever been improved by the addition of dragon fire.

Luckily Thorin seemed to agree with him because he began to back up as well, shepherding Bilbo along behind him. The tension was so thick that Bilbo could have pierced it with his sword and watched it bleed.

Smaug’s terrible smile grew with every step away they took.

“I told you they would turn on you eventually. You should have taken me up on my offer to eat them and spared yourself the pain.” The dragon’s laughter followed them all the way back until Bilbo felt a pair of hands seize him by the back of his coat and drag him into the entry hall.

Fili was snow white and Kili was shaking like a leaf in a strong wind as he clutched the hem of Thorin’s coat. Bilbo patted Fili’s hands to get the prince to release him.

“He’s alive. By – what? Why is he alive?” Kili’s eyes seemed much too large for his face with as wide as they were. “ _Oh Mahal_! I was joking about using his skull as a throne a while back. Do you think he heard me? I’m dead. If he heard that he’ll eat me. Fili, I don’t want to be dragon food – “

“You aren’t going to be, don’t be thick,” Fili snapped. “It doesn’t matter right now anyhow; we’re supposed to be out front with Dain. The fighting has probably already started.”

“Did you see how he _looked_ at us, Fili? Like we were bugs. I think I was smaller than his _teeth!_ ”

Thorin hadn’t spoken. He was still staring down the passage to the treasure chamber, his face a blank slate. Distantly Bilbo could hear crashing as Smaug made his way back to his hidden brood. There wasn’t any need for him to lie quietly now that Thorin knew he was there.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked, ignoring Kili’s continuing distress and Fili’s attempts to calm him.

There was no reply.

“Thorin?” He tried again and stepped up closer. This wasn’t how he would have chosen to reveal Smaug’s presence to him. In fact he hadn’t really thought far enough ahead to decide how to go about it. It would have been after the battle for certain, once everyone’s blood had settled and they might be in a better frame of mind. Fili might have stood with him when he presented his case for Smaug’s continuing occupation of the mountain.

Now he wasn’t sure if anyone would stand with him. Smaug had been openly antagonistic and downright threatening – not a good combination when Bilbo wanted to convince Thorin to let him stay.

“You said he was dead.” Thorin’s voice was so quiet that Bilbo might not have heard him had he not been standing so close. “You said that you saw his skeleton and that it was covered by a slide.”

“I said a lot of things” Bilbo said. He would not show weakness now, not when everything was coming to an end. “I like to think that most of them were true, but some weren’t.”

“You lied. You smiled and you lied to me when you handed me that coin.” Thorin still hadn’t moved and Bilbo began to grow agitated by this unnatural stillness. Even Fili and Kili had gone quiet to watch.   

“I did, but I did it for y – “

“ _Don’t you dare say that you did it for me!”_ Bilbo gasped as he was seized by his neck and dragged close enough that he could see the dueling fury and madness in Thorin’s eyes. “You didn’t do _any_ of this for me! If you had, you would have known that I could not forgive this _! I would have given you everything and now you do this to me!_ ” Thorin was practically screaming and Bilbo’s teeth rattled in his skull as he was shaken.  

“I’m _giving_ you everything, Thorin! It’s the only way I know how! Please stop!”

“Stop? You want me to stop? All you had to do was tell me he was there! Tell me that Smaug was still sleeping in my mountain and I would have thought of something, but you let me take my men in there with him! _I TOOK_ _MY FAMILY IN THERE WITH HIM, BILBO!”_ Spittle flecked Bilbo’s face as Thorin shouted and he looked away, squeezing his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the king’s wrath.

“It’s too late now! I did what I thought was best and nothing happened!”

“And if it had happened? If he had decided he didn’t like us walking around, digging for the Arkenstone and turned on us? Would it have mattered when we were all ash or eaten and you were left to wonder if you should have done something different?!”

“Stop it, Thorin, let go! Please! I need to tell you – “

“I don’t want to hear any more of your words, Burglar.” Thorin’s teeth were barred like a wounded animal. “You say a lot of things and I don’t know which ones are true now.”   

“Uncle!” It was Fili. “Uncle, please don’t. Bilbo said that he’s _Yothurur Harâm_ and I really think he was trying to help us.”

“ _Be silent,_ Fili! If this miserable hobbit lied to me, he probably did to you as well.” Something seemed to die in him there and Bilbo feared what it was. “If you had been any other…” Thorin took one of his hands from Bilbo’s neck and tenderly stroked his cheek with his knuckles. His voice had gone chillingly soft and tender. “I would have beheaded you for treason. I don’t think that I have ever been betrayed so well before…”

“I didn’t betray you, I would never,” Bilbo whispered, terror making his throat tight. “I love you.”

Thorin’s face contorted into something ugly. “He was right about one thing. We really will swallow anything.”

All of Bilbo’s cries and protests fell upon deaf ears as Thorin dragged him through the halls of Erebor with a double grip on his hair and the collar of his jacket. Fili and Kili ran behind them, their faces full of fear and added their voices to the din.

Thorin heard none of it. In fact he didn’t speak until they had made it all the way back to his rooms and he had thrown Bilbo bodily into the chamber. Then he stood in the doorway with his nephews crowded behind him and glared down at him with a ferocity that Bilbo had thought only Smaug possessed.

“Your crimes against my person and my kingdom are grievous, but I don’t have the time to deal with you now. Be thankful I haven’t killed you now and spared myself the agony of coming up with a just punishment for you when the battle is finished. I do not trust you at my back. You will have no glory, no honor, and no one will dare speak your name again when I am finished with you. You are a scourge on me and mine for concealing the monster that burned my family and slaughtered hundreds of my people and I will never forgive you for that. Now rot here, _Burglar_ , until I return for you.”

“No!” Bilbo ran towards the door, his head and neck aching like he had been beaten. He was too slow. Thorin twisted the key in the heavy lock and then pocketed it before slamming the door in his face, trapping him inside as well as if there had been prison bars instead of stone walls.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted at the door and pounded on it as hard as he could. “Thorin, let me out! You’ll die, Thorin! _You’ll die_!” He screamed. _“I have to protect you, please don’t go without me!”_

The sound of receding footsteps was his only answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this one hurt you as much as it hurt me. And now onwards to battle.


	58. Cry Havoc!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Extreme Violence, Battle, Bloodshed

The carrion crows knew blood would be spilt.

They didn’t have the intelligence of the Erebor ravens, nor did they speak the common tongue, but they made themselves understood in other ways despite that. They crowded the rocks and the mountainside, their dark, cunning eyes watching everything that moved and their voices raise in a cacophony of caws.

The ravens, perched on the weather-worn rail of the balcony high above, were the first to spot the dark cloud building on the horizon while their winged fellows bickered below.

“Bats!” They cried. “Bats! To wing, the vermin of every foul place and dark chasm has risen to follow in Azog’s wake!”

With screams of outrage every bird on the mountain took to the air, claws raised to meet the threat. The ravens protected their home, the crows their future feast.

Like a hundred thousand nails on a chalkboard, the bats shrieked as they came to Erebor. Many of them foamed and frothed at the mouth, their eyes rolling in their skulls with sick madness. They had been driven into a frenzy by the goblins and followed them from their tunnels in a swarm so thick that it blocked out the stormy gray sky.

Beneath them came a twisted army, three thousand strong and lead by such an unholy alliance that the land had not seen in centuries.

The goblin king lounged on cobbled-together throne on top of a four-wheeled cart. It could barely contain his girth. He had bedecked himself in a gruesome fashion – a necklace of skulls had been wrapped around his jowls and matched his crown of rib bones. Two trolls in spiked collars pulled his cart, their glazed eyes staring straight ahead, drooling dripping from their lax mouths. Each was as large as the mountain trolls that the dwarves had encountered along the road, but these were much more heavily muscled and their marbled hides, already as strong as stone, were covered in thick armor. Goblins scampered around their flat feet, wielding clubs and bows and rusty swords that they had pillaged off of those unlucky enough to fall into their clutches. There was no order among them; they dashed about and groveled before their king and hissed at the orcs next to them.

One got a little too close and suddenly found his belly bit open from hip to sternum and his guts steaming in the snow. The warg that had snapped at him licked its bloody teeth and bent its head to feast. The rest of the goblins screeched and clawed at each other in their haste to put distance between themselves and their temperamental allies. One goblin would not be missed, but the scent of fresh death was making the entire pack turn their heads to see where it had come from.  

Azog rode at the head of his troops, his son Bolg at his side. A new, more suitable mount had been found for the commander - a massive black warg with cunning gray eyes shifted restlessly between his legs, her teeth bared in eagerness. She was one of the whelps of his dead _Throquuk,_ the one who had shown the most promise of all her children. The black warg, whose name was Ovani, had killed and eaten two of her siblings when she was no more than a week old. She growled, as thirsty for a taste of blood as the rest of her pack.   

Unlike the goblins, who couldn’t have spelled ‘ranks’ much less formed them, the orcs walked in military-straight line with their weapons ether sheathed or held at their sides. Most were panting; their putrid breathes blossoming into white vapor. For days they had run in full armor, rarely resting, fueled by a foul potion in their water skins that gave them strength and deadened their hunger. 

They were as eager as their wargs for the hot spill of blood over their tongues and the taste of flesh.

Snow came down in sheets, covering the mountain and the land around it until everything blended seamlessly together in monotonous ivory.

The men of Lake-Town huddled in the crumbling buildings and behind pile of rock that had been toppled when Smaug came to Erebor. They waited.  The most direct route to the mountain was the main road that passed through the once-grand city and it was down this road that the invaders marched.

At Bard’s command they had hidden in there, what armor they could find covering their fisherman’s clothes. The town armory had been opened and the steel within it dispensed. Cold fingers in thin gloves wrapped around sword hilts or nervously plucked at bowstrings to keep them supple.

The goblin king’s cart bounced over loose cobblestones and half-rotten beams hidden by the snow. Azog had been smart. Dale worked as an excellent ambush point so he sent the goblins through first.

A brown arrow fletched with duck feathers sprouted from the king’s fat neck. He snapped it off with a grunt of irritation.

“Men,” he grumbled, squinting at the arrow shaft that was pinched between his bulbous fingers. The head was still buries in his neck but he didn’t notice. “Kill them and bring me their heads!”

With the shrieks of bats urging them on, the goblins leapt at the walls of Dale and scaled them like spiders. From a bare window across the way, a figure clad in brown and grey appeared with a long yew bow in his hand.

“Release!” He cried and pots rained in from every nook that a man was hiding. The fragile clay jars shattered as soon as they hit the ground or a goblin and spilled their toxic-smelling contents over everything around them.

“Fire!” Every arrow shot had been wrapped in a dry rag and set ablaze. None of them were aimed at the goblins.

Screams of pain and fear filled Dale as the spilled oil ignited and fire raced from stone to stone, up freezing walls, and onto the scraps of cloth that the goblins wore. It melted snow. Skin bubbled and burned as the goblins fell back, wailing and slapping at their bodies as they tried to put out the fire. The smarter ones dove into snow banks to smother the flames, but those were few and far in between. As a hive mind goblins could be fiendishly clever and deadly. As individuals they had the average intelligence of rather stupid toads.

In the chaos another volley of arrows was released, these the normal, deadly variety. Dozens of goblins fell, clutching at their chests or throats where they had been pierced. The armored trolls began to howl and smash at anything that moved, though not a single arrow managed to get through their armor. Decades of lean living had made the men of Lake-Town good with weapons – often their skill with them was the difference between bringing home enough meat to feed their families or watching them go hungry.

No matter how many arrows they fired or pots of oil they threw though, there was no stemming the tide of goblins that came after them.

The foolish drew their swords to fight when the goblins squirmed their ways through the windows and gaping holes in the walls. Those men were instantly swallowed up and torn to pieces. The smart heeded the call to retreat and fled, swords still sheathed as they ran for the mountain as swiftly as their legs would carry them. The ranks of dwarven troops parted to let them through and those who could still fight turned to face the threat again. Of the hundred men who had come when Erebor called for aid, eighty made it to the foot of the mountain. Only half of those were uninjured, Bard among them. He had a long pike strapped across his back and his yew bow in his hand.

Dain watched impassively from his seat atop his painted boar. The good-natured king was gone, replaced with a hardened warrior who had faced death before and calmly sent it on its way. His kingdom may have been at peace, but Dain knew how to lead in war as well. His great red axe was held loosely at his side, the shaft of it long enough for him to swing it pendulum-like from his high position.

“Hold!” He bellowed and every boar in the long front line began to stamp, pawing at the deep snow that brushed against their barrel chests. Their riders’ hands tightened in their bristled hair. The beasts had already churned most of the land behind them into a wet, muddy quagmire so the foot soldiers behind them had to be careful of the slick footing. More than one of them had already taken a slide in it and muddied themselves up to the waist.

Every eye was trained on the darkness that flooded through Dale and up the main road, coming on faster with every second.

Overhead the crows and ravens met the bats. Feathers flew. Bodies fell and were lost in the snow and muck.

“I said hold!”

Thorin and Dwalin stood should to shoulder at the head of the foot soldiers. Dwalin had his twin axes out and there was a manic glint in his eyes that spoke of bloodlust. Orcrist gleamed in Thorin’s sword hand and his oaken shield had been strapped to his arm, but his eyes were practically lifeless in comparison. Something had gone out of the king of Erebor, like a candle snuffed in the dark.

The rest of the company stood behind them. Most seemed as excited as Dwalin, but the two princes stood next to Balin rather than their uncle and Ori and Bofur were scanning the ranks as if they were looking for someone.

 “Bows up!” Dain roared as the horde finally cleared Dale and came charging up the main road, three thousand strong, leaving the ruins behind in roaring flames that the snow could not kill.

Dozens of short bows and a couple long ones wielded by men were raised skywards.

Even as the first hail of arrows came down the giant boars of the Iron Hills charged, their steel-tipped tusks gleaming in the gray morning light.

 __________________________________

Silver eyes watched the whole spectacle with a chilling impassivity from the peak of Ravenhill.

“Is this what war is like?” Legolas asked from his post next to his father. Unlike Thranduil, the young elf was fascinated. He had been in battle before, it was expected of him as a prince to accompany scouts into the forest and protect his realm from the threats found therein, but never before had he witnessed a spectacle such as this. A hundred giant boars charged forward, their riders wielding spears and glaives and axes on long handles. They mowed down the first row of foes like blades of grass, cutting and slicing with weapon and tusk and turning the snow crimson. So great was their momentum that they cut a swath through the entirety of the goblin ranks and reached the orcs and the wargs behind them. Then the real fighting began.

“No,” Thranduil mused. A warg leapt high and tackled a dwarf off of his mount and then both of them were quickly trampled underfoot by the battle-mad pig. “It is nothing but a farce of one.”

“My King?” Tauriel asked. Her eyes were also fixed on the battle. The rest of the elves had moved off, waiting for Thranduil to give them the word to return to the safe shadows of the forest. The branches would be bare of leaves now and for the first time in months they would be able to see light from the forest floor. It should have been a season of revelry, but Thorin Oakenshield and his little band of wanderers had brought strife back to the mountain and caught everyone up in their troubles.

Thranduil idly wondered if the Halfling was enjoying his position now. No doubt he too was caught up in the fight, where his pleas and bribes wouldn’t do him any good when he was faced with a sharp sword. It wasn’t a thought that made the king happy.

“This.” He gestured at the bloodbath beneath them. The goblins had scattered like sparks on the wind and had managed to creep about the sides of the dwarven army, picking off soldiers from either side and dragging them away with their superior numbers. “It is a tale that I know the ending of. They will make a valiant stand, but by nightfall they will be overwhelmed and not a soul who stood to protect the mountain will be left alive. Heart and courage mean nothing here.”

“And if we came to their aid?” Legolas grimaced at something, but there was so much to look upon that Thranduil could not say what his son was watching. He would have preferred he had seen none of it, but the battle had begun earlier than anyone had expected and they had not yet quit Ravenhill when the horde reached Dale.

“It would change nothing,” Thranduil said sharply. “Nothing except that every one of us would join the pile of desecrated dead. Put the thought out of your head this instant. If they knew that we watched, the goblins would scale this hill in a moment and we would be drawn into the fight whether or not we wanted it. Now come, we have tarried here overlong.”

Although his father left the hill to return to his troops, Legolas and Tauriel lingered at the edge.

“It isn’t right,” Legolas said, sounding torn.

“I thought that you didn’t like dwarves?”

“There are men there as well. But I would say the same were they all dwarves. This sits very ill with me.”

“And with me, but your father commands that we turn back and it is treason to disobey his orders.” Tauriel’s eyes scanned the battle, searching for two brothers.

After a moment they both looked at each other.

“Do you believe we will die, Tauriel?” The prince asked.

The redhead’s face was grim. “I would rather die than turn away and live the rest of my days knowing that I did nothing to try to stop this.”        

When Thranduil turned to speak to his son again, he was greeted with the sight of both his child and the captain stepping off the edge of Ravenhill to drop to the battle below. For a moment his heart froze in his chest and his eyes widened with the first true terror he had felt in centuries.

“Legolas, no!” He cried and drew his long sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That takes care of that. Now let's see what Bilbo is up to, shall we?


	59. The Blue Knife and the Dragon’s Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Extreme Violence, Battle, Bloodshed, Hurt

“Key, key, key, who doesn’t keep a spare key?” Bilbo muttered as he feverishly dug through the drawers of the writing desk and then the bedside tables. When they yielded nothing he pulled the heavy drawers completely out to feel in the spaces behind them. Still nothing. Everyone in the Shire kept secondary keys in case they accidentally found themselves locked out or had to borrow a cup of sugar from the neighbor while no one was home. They were usually hidden in flower pots or under the welcome mat, common places where anyone could find them if they spent a minute or two looking. Already Bilbo had pulled back the heavy rug, pushed everything off the desk, upended Thorin’s pack, and pushed the mattress up to look under it. So far there had been no sign on an additional key that would buy him his freedom from this wretched prison of a room and he was beginning to wonder if one existed at all.

_“Would you have saved them if you could, Bilbo Baggins?”_

“I would – I will! If I could just get out!” He shouted, knowing how insane he must sound, answering voices that only he could hear. Or maybe they were memories.

In frustration he stomped to the immoveable stone door and gave in the urge to throw something at it. The dusty glass inkwell that he picked up off the rug had been empty for centuries, but even without an ink splatter it made a satisfying noise when it collided with the door and shattered into a hundred pieces.

The door was lockable from both sides, though he was sure that a different key turned it either way since they would have made it too easy for thieves to get in. That did him little good though, when Thorin had the only key he needed!

“ _I told you_ ,” Smaug’s voice purred in his head. “ _I told you that they would turn on you in the end. How are you enjoying the feel of that sword in your back?”_

“He isn’t _well!”_ Bilbo shouted at the door. “You killed his people and took his home; I didn’t expect him to take the news happily!”

_“And his nephews? They did nothing when he threatened to cut off your head, did they?”_

“Shut up, shut up, I have to think!”

The biggest shards of glass were kicked out of the way as he paced back and forth and went skittering away into the dark corners. The sharp little pains when he stepped on the smaller pieces helped him black out Smaug’s imaginary laughter. He wouldn’t be helping anyone if he went mad from listening to the voices of people who weren’t there.

“Alright. Deep breath. In…out…think of something, you idiot. You’re supposed to be clever.” He crouched down to look at the lock. It was fairly simple – he could even see the hallway through the middle of it. Of course, he wasn’t quite sure if dwarven locks were the same as hobbit. They might have more tumblers in them or some secret that made them look deceptively simple. Smaug was too far away to hear him if he shouted for help through the keyhole and he doubted the dragon would come to the rescue anyway, contrary as he was.

“So no one is coming to help,” he murmured. “The walls are stone so I’m not getting through those, and the air vents are up far too high and a too small for me to wiggle my way through.” Not the mention they probably opened out on a sheer cliff face and that was just as bad as a locked door in terms of impassability.

So it had to be the door. Of course, now he was faced with the problem of having no key again.

What would he do if he failed for a second time?

If had to watch them entombed again?

This time he would be found and tried as a traitor after the funerals and be given back to the earth sans his head. In fact he might be happy to see it go after everything was said and done. If Thorin lived Bilbo would forgive him anything. Everything. He’d done it once before and hobbits were mellow and forgiving creatures by nature. They rarely hung onto feuds or grudges beyond dinnertime and a few pints of good ale.

He’d been shouted at, shaken about, and now locked in with the promise of more abuse to come. It didn’t matter. He had a job to do and one miserable door wasn’t going to stop him.

“No key…no help…” He chewed his thumbnail down to the base until it started to bleed, staring through the little hole to the freedom beyond it. If Nori was here he could have picked the damn thing in a couple of minutes since it wasn’t a magic door. Sadly Nori wasn’t there and Bilbo had neither lock picking tools nor the know-how to use them properly eve if he’d had them. He would have put his eye out somehow, with his luck. A writer and a gentleman had no business knowing how to pick locks, so no matter what he claimed he was fairly certain that disqualified him from being a proper Master Burglar. Light feet and fingers wouldn’t help him get out now.

“You’re going about this the wrong way,” he said aloud, taking another deep breath to settle himself. “Royal Chambers, come now. Solid walls, solid floors, heavy doors to keep thieves out…or in, I suppose. There would be servants or staff coming in and out, how’re they supposed to clean the sheets if the door is locked?”

There had to be a secondary entrance somewhere, something only trustworthy staff would have known about and that could be used as an escape passage for the Durins in case of attack. Somewhere subtle, where Thorin wouldn’t have thought to block off.

“Damn this wretched mountain and all of its secret doors!” Bilbo groaned and climbed back to his feet. “If I was a servant, where would I go to get in through a hidden side door?”

The walls of the bathroom were solid sheets of marble, so it wouldn’t be in there. The bedroom though – it too was mostly stone threaded through with veins of gold, but most of the walls were taken up with intricate mosaic pictures that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The birth of Durin the Deathless was on the wall behind the desk, a great battle whose name he didn’t know was along the far wall with the fireplace, so that when it was lit it would illuminate the pictures of death and battle. The entire wall across from the bed was devoted to the discovery of the Arkenstone.

“This is all your fault,” he told it. The image of it had been crafted in rainbow tiles and crushed white gems to make it shine and more than once Bilbo had lain awake at night staring at it and resenting it a little more with every passing hour. So much trouble over a glorified paperweight. “Really, other than looking nice, what use are you?”

“They wouldn’t” he breathed and walked over to the wall. The tiled Arkenstone was nearly at eye level for him, but it was the perfect height for a dwarf with an armful of sheets to bump with their elbow. He reached out and beneath his fingers the whole piece sank into the wall by an inch.

They would. What better place to hide a secret passage than behind the symbol of the family’s rule?

An entire section of the wall next to him slid inwards, releasing a blast of dusty, stale air as the passage was unsealed. Bilbo could have shouted with joy, but instead he took one last quick look around. The poison needles were still strapped to his belt, Sting was safely in its sheathe at his hip, and the Ring of Power was in his coat pocket. He reached in to touch it, seeking the feeling of the cool, cursed metal but his finger slipped into the other ring there instead. He drew out the Consort’s Ring and looked at it. It was still much too big for him, but the summer-green emerald and diamonds shone as brightly as ever.

“I don’t imagine I’ll ever wear you again. Stay here so that you don’t get lost and he’ll…he’ll give you to someone who deserves you some day.” It wasn’t really the ring he was saying goodbye to. Before he could change his mind, Bilbo crossed to the bed that he had shared with Thorin and shoved the ring under one of the pillows. It would be safe there, with no chance of being lost or stolen he told himself. That would be the icing on the cake of his crimes – letting a live dragon run amok _and_ losing the Consort’s Ring to cap everything off.

“Makes me sound like a terrible criminal,” he mumbled and drew Sting before stepping into the long-abandoned passage. With as many orcs and goblins as there had to be gathering outside Erebor the little blade shone brighter than any torch and cast everything in an eerie blue light.

Something skittered deep in the passage where that light could not reach. Cobwebs hung heavy from the low ceiling and the floor was an inch deep in rock dust that instantly got between all of his toes. He left soft footprints in it as he walked, next to the smaller prints of whatever vermin inhabited the dour little hall. He hoped it didn’t come back to investigate because he was in no mood to deal with rats or whatever other unpleasant thing inhabited these deep caves.

The doors were visible from the inside and had faint runes carved into them that had to signify who occupied the room. Bilbo blew the dust from one of them and it made him cough. It looked like Khuzdul, and that made sense because what other language would dwarves use? He pressed the letters and the door groaned open a crack, letting a large amount of soot spill out into the room beyond. This door was more stubborn than the one in Thorin’s room and Bilbo had to push and heave for nearly a minute to get it to open enough to let him wriggle through. One of his vest buttons popped off and was instantly lost in the dust, but he had no time to search around for it.  

He was in Frerin’s empty bedchamber. The door to the outside hall was wide open and the bed was in disarray from being shared by Fili and Kili. One of Kili’s socks was still lying on the floor.

“Didn’t think of locking _this_ door, did you, you clot head…” He skidded out into the hall, nearly sliding on the cold, slick stone. There were cobwebs in his hair and he was dusty up to his ankles so he probably looked like he’d been rooting around in a cellar rather than escaping to make it to a battle on time.

“What would everyone say about that?” He panted as he ran, Sting held far enough away from his side that wouldn’t skewer himself if he slid again. His foot throbbed with pain; he would never run as fast as he once could with as maimed as it was now. “Bilbo Baggins, late to the Battle of Five Armies because he’d been locked in the king’s bedroom. It sounds terribly raunchy.”

The entire mountain was deserted and the silence of it all made him feel as small and insignificant as a lady bug. Statues of kings and warriors of old watched his pass with stone eyes, casting their voiceless judgment down on him.

“Manwë, Varda, Yavanna, Nienna, Mandos - Aulë if you love your children, help me save them as I could not before!”

This couldn’t all be for nothing. All of this pain and blood and heartache couldn’t lead to the same end, not when he’d tried so hard to prevent it.

_Some things are fated to happen…_

“Not this!” He shouted as he raced into the entry hall. If anything could be changed, this had to be.

The sounds of battle reached him long before he made it to the ruins of the great gate. Screaming, the clash of metal against metal, and the dull roars of beasts and warriors as they fell and died. He’d heard it all once before, and more times than he could count in his nightmares. This was a slaughter, nothing more or less and Bilbo knew exactly what he would find on the road out front.

With Sting still drawn he went down on his hands and knees to crawl through the little tunnel. There was a light at the end and with the adrenaline and fear racing through his veins it nearly looked as if it was colored blood-red.

Everything he saw when he emerged was exactly as he’d expected, but somehow worse for being behind the lines rather than watching safely from the top of Ravenhill. Every bit of snow for yards had been obliterated, churned to mud or stained red by blood. He was behind a barricade made of tumbled stones and piled snow. There were already bodies draped over it. The deconstructed tents and extra supplies had been stored here and three white medical tents had been erected at the feet of one of the massive greenstone statues that guarded the mountain. There was already a flurry of activity around them as the wounded were carried in on palates, many sporting wounds that even the most talented healer couldn’t hope to mend.

The dead were carefully laid to the side.

Bilbo refused to look at them. He was too afraid of who he might see lying there, staring at the gray sky with milky eyes.

The sight of an elf having a slash on his arm stitched closed outside the healer’s tent had him jolting though. Either some of Thranduil’s men had defaulted or the elf king had decided that it was worth their while to join in the struggle for the mountain. Either was Bilbo had never been happier to see an injured elf in his life, as morbid as that seemed.

He jogged for the barricade, where a few dwarves with short bows and a handful of men were standing, picking off any for that got near enough. For a moment he thought that he saw Ori and his slingshot, but his vision was blocked by a man.

“Good to see you, Master Halfling!” Bard said, sounding winded. He had a cut on his face that trailed down dangerously close to his neck, but it didn’t seem to impede his aim at all. Even as Bilbo watched he fit an arrow to his yew bow and fired in one fluid motion. Away in the thick of the fighting an orc fell with the same shaft now sprouting from his eye socket.

“And you!” Bilbo had to shout to make himself heard over the din. “I’m glad to find you still standing, my friend!”

“Aye, as glad as I am to still be standing!” Another arrow was fired, this time ending the life of a warg. “I had thought you would be with your friends, or manning the medical tent at the very least!”

“I was temporarily detained.” It was hard to concentrate on just one thing or spot anyone specific with as much as was going on. Every movement drew the eye, every wail made him glance with fear in that direction. It all blended together in a blur of armored bodies, bloody fur, and flashing steel. He blinked snowflakes out of his eyes. “How does it go?”

“Poorly,” Bard answered bluntly, firing again. The arrow went straight through one goblin and into the chest of the one behind it. “I count half of the boars dead along with their riders and they were to be our battering ram to break through to Azog.”

“Where is he?”

“Far enough back that none of my arrows can reach him, surrounded by guards who look like their mothers bred with trolls. There’s no getting through to either of them if we continue like this and it’s only a matter of time before the line breaks entirely.” Mingled sweat and blood ran down Bard’s face and Bilbo clutched his sword tighter as an orc nearly made it over the snowy barricade before he was cut down by a dwarf wielding a war hammer.

“Have you seen any of my companions?” He called, but Bard didn’t hear him. Everyone was too busy fighting for their lives to worry about keeping an eye on anyone else. Of course, wherever Azog was, that was where Thorin would go and Fili and Kili by extension. From where he was he could barely see over the barricade to spot them and that was a problem. If he set off looking for them on a wrong angle he could find himself in the thick of battle with no sign of anyone.

With the idea of getting to a better vantage point, Bilbo clapped Bard on the back with his free hand in farewell and turned around. The staircase that twined up the side of the statue over the medical tents beckoned him, the same one that he had ascended to reach the hidden door days earlier. It felt like years.

He skirted around the tents and the silent rows of dead. There were already dozens of them and he knew these were only the ones who had lived long enough to be pulled to safety and then died before their wounds could be treated (or worse, _while_ they were being treated). Those who were killed further out would be left to lie until the dust settled and they could be safely reached. There would be more than one tomb after this bearing the name “ _Azaghâl_ ”, or ‘Warrior’ because the one who lay within had been mauled beyond any hope of recognition.

Fili had only been given a prince’s tomb because Balin had recognized his hair beads. There hadn’t been anything else left of the golden prince to identify with as ripped and torn as his body had been.

Bilbo tasted bile in his mouth as he stepped over the limp legs of a man whose throat had been ripped out.

“Keep your head,” he said thickly. “It won’t happen. Just find them and protect them and you won’t have to see that again.”

The first step was the hardest to get up since it was steep and weather-worn from years of rain and snow. Bilbo set Sting up on top of it and then scrambled up after, digging his fingers and toes into the cracks in the stone to help him up. The view hadn’t improved when he made it up so up went his sword again and him after it four more time, until he was up higher than the white tents and could see into the thickest part of the fighting.

If any songs were sung about this day, they would not be songs about great deeds or the might of this unlikely alliance. They would be sad ones, sung on dark nights. Mourning songs. Songs of loss and heart pain.

Like a swarm of locusts, Azog’s terrible army had come to the mountain. To Bilbo they looked like a black sea armed with dark steel and just as unstoppable as the tide. In places boards as large as boulders charged through, but they were slow now from their wounds and the arrows that peppered their hides. The dwarves of the Iron Hills had created a wall of sorts using tall shields that they used to knock back their foes and daze them before stabbing them with whatever weapon they had in their other hand. It was an effective tactic and they gave no ground to the orcs and goblins, but neither did they claim any. It was a stalemate that would only end when the dwarves broke or Azog ran out of troops to hurl at them.

Wildly Bilbo searched for the pale orc, the snow making his vision blurry. He wouldn’t be at the front, it wasn’t his style. Azog didn’t care one whit for the goblins; he would let them smash themselves to bloody bits against the dwarf shields before riding in with his orcs to finish off the survivors. No, he would be further towards the middle where no arrows could reach him.

Where he could draw out the vengeful and gold-stupid Thorin.

“There you are,” Bilbo breathed, leaning out and squinting into the swirling snow. Azog was mounted on a warg behind his guards just as Bard had told him, and his pit-spawned son Bolg was at his side. They weren’t even fighting, though their mounts were clearly eager for it from the way they were snapping at each other. Any threat that made it close enough was turned back by the orc guards in front of them. Bilbo cringed as one of them felled a boar with a single swing of his scimitar to the animal’s thick neck. Its head went rolling and its rider’s quickly followed. Both orcs were big enough that they should have been visible from most of the battlefield, making a tempting target for any dwarf looking to take one or both of their heads.

A dwarf like Thorin.

“Please don’t fall for it, please be safe behind the shield line…oh pestilence!” He swore, spotting a familiar blue cloak and the curving arc of an elvish blade. Of course he wouldn’t be behind the line. That would have been _sensible._

No, Thorin was systematically hacking his way through the horde with all the grace of a practiced butcher, making straight for Azog.

There were other figures following in Thorin’s bloody wake. Bilbo thought that he could see Nori and Dwalin fighting back to back a few meters from the king and two more who had to be Fili and Kili doing their best to keep their enemies away from Thorin’s exposed back, but of the rest of the company he could see no sign. Dain was towards the forefront as well, still mounted on his boar and swinging his red axe with manic glee. No one could seem to get close to the Iron Hills King, but he had the advantage of a strong mount and a good vantage point. Thorin had neither, and yet stubbornness and strength had gotten him all the way to where he was currently dueling with one of Azog’s terrible guards.

It wasn’t going well.

“I can’t _reach_ you out there!” Bilbo shouted after them in frustration, knowing full well that there was no way they could hear him. Even if they could it wouldn’t have changed anything. He was a traitor to the Durin’s line, even if he had been working to save them all this time it didn’t change that fact. Despite all that work things were still going the same direction as last time. The eagles would arrive and Beorn as well, and they would all be too late to save the Durins.

Bilbo fumbled at his coat pocket. There was only one thing for it – he would don the ring and do his best to fight his way to Thorin’s side. Being invisible wouldn’t stop him from being cut down, but at least it would keep anyone from aiming at him specifically.

“Time to finish thi- _aah!_ ” He cried, his vision going white with pain as a blade sank through his shirt and into his side. 

Of course, his mithril shirt lay where it had been dropped back in the treasury, providing not a bit of protection.

In blind panic Bilbo seized the scrawny wrist of the goblin that had stabbed him and let his knees give out, dragging the struggling creature over the edge of the steep stairs with him.

The fall took eons.           

When it finally ended he landed hard on the piled bodies beneath the stairs. They did little to cushion his fall and he screamed in agony when it jarred the knife in his side. His cry was lost among a hundred others. The goblin had a worse time of it though since it landed on a dead dwarf’s breastplate and lay with its head twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Up,” Bilbo gulped wetly as he stared up at the mountain looming over them. No one heard him. “Up!” He cried louder. “The goblins are coming over the mountain!”

That got someone’s attention and the shout was quickly taken up. The wounded and healers looked up as a swarm of goblins skittered down the sheer cliff face, dagger held between their teeth as they descended behind the lines. One of them leapt off the stone straight for Bilbo and he rolled to the side to avoid it, his side burning with pain. It didn’t feel like a very deep wound, so he grit his teeth and wrenched the blade out just in time to use it to parry another jab from the goblin. It was slick with his blood and he nearly dropped it. The goblin was both quicker and stronger than he was and already Bilbo could feel his strength fading as he bled.

The goblin barred it stumps of teeth at him in a snarling grimace and slashed wildly at his face. It missed by a hairsbreadth.

Bilbo tripped over his own feet and fell backwards again in his haste to pull back. His found knife went flying away and Sting lay far off where it had fallen with him from the stairs, glowing like a beacon and utterly useless. He stared at it with despair in his eyes as the goblin hopped over, chattering madly as it raised its jagged blade over Bilbo’s belly. He could see every chip and fleck of rust on the horrible thing and he tried to roll away again, but his body wouldn’t respond. He was frozen in place with fear and pain like a rabbit caught in a snare.

“Bilbo, move!” Someone yelled and something smacked into the goblin’s throat with enough force that it gagged and dropped the knife.

Snapped out of his stupor, Bilbo seized the knife before it could fall on him, reversed his hold on it, and stabbed sharply upwards to bury it in the monster’s groin. A pair of hands caught him under his arms and pulled him away as the goblin crumpled, dragging him off the pile of corpses and back into the muddy snow.

“My sword…“ Bilbo gasped, reaching out for Sting.

“Somebody grab it – no, the blue one. Just bring it over! Bilbo, stop moving I saw you fall.” Ori leaned over him, his face worried. There was blood on his cheek from his nose, which looked broken. Arrow after arrow went zipping over their heads, picking off the goblins coming down he rocks. Even the wounded had taken up arms again to meet those that made it to the ground.

“Are you hurt?” Ori’s words were thick and a bubble of blood welled up from his smashed nose. The scribe winced and wiped it away on his dirty sleeve. A dwarf with a horned helmet came running up with Sting clutched in his free hand and set it down next to them before turning to engage two goblins that had been coming up behind him, smashing at them with an enormous hammer.

Bilbo sat up and grabbed the sword hilt. He kept his arm tucked tightly in against his pierced side. The burning pain had dulled to a fiery throbbing, but he wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

“Just a scratch. I have to get – I have to go – help me up!” When Ori stumbled to his feet Bilbo reached up and used the scribe’s arm to heave himself up with him. His stomach rolled and he had to swallow hard to keep himself from vomiting all over the dwarf. It really was just a scratch, he told himself. It hardly hurt at all now, certainly less than the warg bite had.

“I think you need to go to the healer’s tent – “Ori started, but Bilbo waved him off.

“Can’t, no time.  Thorin and the rest are trying to take on Azog’s guards, but they can’t beat them.”

“They can’t?”

“No, they’re going to get themselves killed!”

“You can’t get to them!” Ori held his hand as if to keep him from running headfirst into the fighting. “You can barely stand! They’re all good fighters, they’ll be – “

Bilbo seized Ori by the neck of his tunic and dragged him so close that the scribe’s broken nose almost touched his. “I watched them _buried,_ Ori. They _won’t_ be alright, that’s why I’m _back,_ ” he hissed. “I won’t watch it happen again, I’ve come too far for that!”

No archer could reach Azog. For a moment Bilbo’s thoughts touched on the ring and his original plan to fight his way to the Durin’s sides, but that idea was quickly knocked aside when his side gave an almighty throb that nearly sent him back to the ground.

“What can I do?” He spat and Ori’s hold on his hand tightened.

“Maybe something good will happen.” The dwarf tried to sound like he believed it. “Please see the healer Bilbo, you’re turning gray.”

A goblin dropped to the ground with an arrow in its leg mere feet away and hissed nastily at them. A metal ball from Ori’s slingshot hit it in the eye so hard that Bilbo saw fluids spurt and it dropped dead on the spot.

“Ori,” Bilbo said quietly, his eyes on the dead goblin, “Stay here.”

“What?”

“I said stay here! I have to go – “

“No, no, Bilbo don’t! What are you going to do?” Ori shot another goblin that had been sidling up to them and then made a grab at Bilbo’s coat as the hobbit slipped away from his side.

“Something mad!” Bilbo called over his shoulder as he stumbled away, Sting in one hand and the other pressed hard against his side to keep pressure on his wound. Almost at once his hand grew wet and sticky.

It wasn’t a plan that he had. It was barely an idea.

It was a pure, desperate hope.

As goblins scurried down the face of the mountain and orcs and wargs besieged it from the front, as rabid bats filled the sky and good men fell, Bilbo Baggins disappeared down the tunnel into Erebor.

__________________________________

“Bilbo, come back!” Ori shouted after the hobbit as soon as he had a moment to pause in his rapid shooting, but the hobbit was already halfway back to the mountain and out of reach. He had a feeling that whatever idea Bilbo had had was a truly dreadful one.

That feeling got even worse when he saw three goblins scurry down the tunnel after the burglar. Bilbo could hold his own in a fight, no one would deny that, but he was wounded and shaken and Ori doubted the goblins would have much trouble finishing him off for good.

“I’ll be right back!” He shouted to the two dwarf archers next to him and got a quick nod in reply. No one had much breath to spare for talking when every word was either a command or a warning. Ori shoved his slingshot into his belt as he dashed for the tunnel even as the last of the three goblins wiggled into it. Bilbo was easier prey than the dwarven warriors waiting at the foot of the mountain and once the hobbit was dead there was no other fighter to stop them from running wild inside Erebor.

A short sword that Dain’s weapon smith had given him hung sheathed at Ori’s hip, but he knew that he would do more damage to himself than he would to the goblins with it. Sharp edges had never gotten along well with him, which was why he preferred his slingshot or a bludgeoning weapon like a hammer. He had enough brute strength to wield them well enough and not have to worry about slicing any of his parts off. With that in mind, he kept him hands away from the sword hilt as he crawled through the tunnel in pursuit of the goblins. Bilbo had to be retreating to fetch some proper armor; there was no other explanation for his sudden flight. His vest was poor protection against swords of goblin-wielding knives.   

The hobbit was nowhere to be seen when Ori made it through the passage, but there were flecks of crimson blood on the floor and the goblins were gathered in the middle of the cavernous hall, chattering and screeching in excitement and gesturing with their blades towards the deeper parts of the mountain.

“Oi!” Ori shouted at them, shocking himself with his own nerve. A good scribe wouldn’t have shouted as goblins, much less come on this adventure in the first place. That was a job for warriors.

 _So I must be a warrior-scribe_ he thought, liking the sound of that very much.

One of the goblins screeched at him, its little eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Oh dear,” Ori gulped and grabbed for his slingshot as the three goblins raced at him with their blades raised. A warrior-scribe probably would have had his weapon drawn before he insulted his enemies. Nerveless fingers fumbled for the pouch of iron shot at his belt, but he pulled the drawstring on it too hard and it snapped, sending his ammunition spilling across the floor like so many shining silver beetles. Every one of the metal balls bounced and rolled away and was lost to cracks in the floor in a matter of seconds.

Ori looked up at the goblins rushing at him and knew he was dead and that it would probably be a painful death. He raised his fists and took a step backwards to ground himself. He wouldn’t die cowering.

_Boom._

All of the goblins skidded to a stop.

_Boom._

Stones rattled and danced on the floor.

A huge piece of stone was shaken loose from the ceiling and came plummeting down to explode into a hundred smaller pieces.

Ori’s hands fell limply to his sides and his mouth hung open as he stared.

The goblins cast their eyes around in confusion, but too late did they realize that the new threat came from behind them.

None of them had time to scream before the huge red claw came smashing down on them, crushing them into a mess of blood and bone.

Ori fell to his knees as gold and gems rained down around him, tumbling loose from Smaug’s belly scales as the drake stepped over him as if he wasn’t there. If he had been standing a few feet forward he would have been crushed along with the goblins and he doubted Smaug would have even noticed. He was so big that he nearly filled the hall, his long serpentine tail dragging behind him, the spike at its tip carving furrows in the walls. His wing tips brushed the ceiling hundreds of meters up.

“Ori.”

The scribe looked to his side, tears of fear and awe pooling in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks. Bilbo was standing there with Sting in his hand. He was as pale as snow, but his eyes burned with a terrifying resolve. In that moment Ori knew that he was more afraid of the hobbit next to him than of the dragon.

“What have you done?” He whispered.

Bilbo smiled wanly. “What I have to do. This time I’ll save everyone.” Cold fingers touched Ori’s cheek, brushing away the tears there. “Farewell, Ori. May we meet again as friends.”

With that Bilbo turned away and walked to where Smaug waited for him before the ruins of the great gate.

“Burn them,” the hobbit said.

With a terrible laugh, Smaug reared up to his full colossal height and broke through the tumbled rock and stones. Sunlight flooded the halls of Erebor for the first time in one hundred and seventy years as the fire drake and the hobbit went out to meet the battle and Ori was left staring after them and shivering in the sudden cold.   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment I'm sure most of you have been waiting for. 
> 
> Art by me, and it can be found on Tumblr [here.](http://mariejacquelyn.tumblr.com/post/55237314081/not-this-time-spoiler-picture-for-an-expected/)  
> 


	60. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Major Character Death, Wounds, Hurt and Comfort, Emotional Pain, Crying

_Don’t leave me…_

_Don’t leave…_

_Don’t…_

_“Please don’t go without me!”_

Blinding pain and then blessed darkness.

He floated, though he knew not where nor why. All he knew was that things were dark and that was how he wanted them to stay. Once in a while the shadows would retreat and he would see shapes or figures in the distance, but every time he turned his back on them and they would retreat again. He wasn’t ready to speak with them or hear what they had to say. It was cowardly to hide in this place but somehow he could not bring himself to face the light again so soon.

So he stayed in the darkness, where the only sound was the faint beating of his tired old heart. He learned to time the space between them as if he was counting the seconds between the lightning strike and the roll of thunder.

Even here though, in this place where no light or sound could reach him, there was still a pain that he could not completely block out. It took him a long time to figure out where it was coming from – he had no form here. It was as if he was a part of the shadows, and yet he still managed to ache as if a knife had been plunged into the fiber of his very being. It took him hours, days, years to find where it was coming from, and yet he still couldn’t understand it.

There was a rose there with him. It had been in his hand all along and he hadn’t noticed it until he realized that it was the source of his pain. The thorns had dug deep into his hand, drawing blood that shone heart’s blood red. It wasn’t a healthy bloom though; even in the dark he could see that. Several of the petals had been plucked off and the ones that remained were half-rotten. The smell was sickly sweet.

_“Sometimes there has to be time for flowers, King Under the Mountain…”_

Heather for protection.

Daisies for innocence.

So what did red roses mean?

“That’s quite long enough, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin. That was his name. How had he forgotten that until now? He held the rose tightly enough to send blood flowing down his hand and wrist as the darkness split in two and blinding light came pouring in to lay him bare.

He opened his eyes.

Nothing made sense at first. Colors blended together and everything spun and tilted like a top. His first instinct was to close his eyes again to shut it all out, but a white-haired figure leaned over him and he was forced to focus on them.

“You staying with us this time, laddie?”

Balin. Balin was the one looking down at him, though his features still ran together like water. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Thorin?” His friend asked. “Can you speak?”

He tried to nod, he tried so damn hard that the effort should have moved mountains, but he was a puppet whose strings had been severed and all he managed was a slow blink. Balin seemed to understand him anyway.

“S’alright, the wizard said it might be this way. He put you into a spelled sleep to help you heal, but you should be right as rain before too long.”

 _How long?_ How long had he been sleeping before the wizard’s voice had pulled him from that void?

“Here, have a sip of this.” A cup was raised to his lips and a liquid that was so sweet that he nearly choked on it was tipped slowly into his dry mouth. Although he managed to swallow it and three more after it, he almost would have rather had nothing at all.

“Watered mead,” Balin explained as he took the cup away and set it on the ground. “Dain had a few casks and we’ve been keeping you going on it and a few other things.”

“It’s foul,” Thorin rasped and Balin’s wrinkled face broke into a smile.

“Aye, that it is, but it’s all you’ll be having for now. You’ve been in and out for three days now and we were starting to wonder if you’d gotten too comfortable on your cot and were planning on making it a full week.”

Three days.

“What happened?”

“A mace ran into your skull is what happened. As far as the rest…we won, which should be obvious since I’m sitting here talking to you rather than greeting you in the Halls. Everything else will keep until you wake again.”

It was true that Thorin could already feel fatigue dragging him under again even though he had only been awake and aware for a matter of minutes, but something kept him clinging to wakefulness despite his exhaustion.

“Th’ boys?” He slurred as his eyelids slid shut again.

“Both alive, though it was a near thing. Sleep, Thorin.”

He slept. This time there were no dreams of roses.

The next time he opened his eyes it was dark out and the only light came from a small lantern that had been set on the ground next to the bedroll he was lying on. He felt more grounded this time. The dimly lit tent top didn’t swim in and out of focus as much, though the lamp cast dancing shadows that he didn’t want to look at for too long. The tent was nearly silent, except for the sound of his own breathing and the howling of the wind outside. Of course as king he would have his own tent to recover in, but he would have much preferred to be with his company now. He wanted to see them, to assure himself that they were whole and that miracles of miracles they had all managed to survive this suicidal venture. It was almost too much to hope.

“Balin,” he rasped. The snoring stopped and there came a rustling noise as the lantern was picked up and raised higher, revealing Balin’s tired eyes and messy white hair.

“Awake?”

“Yes, unless I’m dreaming about my head threatening to split in two.”

His friend laughed roughly. “No. Oin did a good job of keeping your skull in one piece, more or less. He’s sleeping now, we sent him off when he nearly sewed his own fingers to someone’s wound, but I can rouse him to make you some tea for the pain.”

“No need,” Thorin said. As a doctor, Oin had probably worked himself into a state of exhaustion dealing with the aftermath of the battle and he didn’t want to rouse the old dwarf for something as simple as a pain tonic. His head throbbed fiercely, but it was nothing he couldn’t tolerate for a while. “I want to see them.”

“You just woke up, laddie. Give yourself an hour to gain your senses back first - they aren’t going anywhere.”

“Balin,” he tried to get the older to understand even though he was having a hard time finding his tongue. “I _need_ to see them.” He didn’t even know if he could walk yet, but he would rather fall in the snow trying to get to his boys than lie here and not know what state they were in. He grit his teeth in frustration at his own weakness and heard Balin sigh softly.

“You’re as stubborn as your father was. Alright, if you can get up I’ll take you to them though I might need a hand getting there.”

Thorin turned his head to the side and squinted into the darkness. Balin usually helped him up when he was down, so if he needed help for anything.

“Balin…”

“I’d say I’ve had worse, but this is a first.” The old warrior clapped a hand on his left thigh, which ended at a bandaged stump right below his knee. He was sitting on a wooden stool and leaning hard on a stick to keep himself from tipping right off it again. Now that Thorin was looking at him properly, he realized that Balin’s skin was pale and unhealthy-looking even in the poor light. The lines on his face had grown even deeper and there were dark bruises around both of his eyes. “I’ll manage though. Not the first dwarrow to miss a leg! Between Dain and me, we have a full set.”

“Balin, I’m sorry – “

“Did you cut off my leg?” Balin asked sharply, leaning forward.

“I lead you into this – “

“And I followed you, knowing I might end up with my head cut off! I’m grateful it was just my leg, Thorin. It could have been far worse. You’re alive, your nephews are alive. If a leg is the only price I’ve paid to see that, I’d happily give up the other one to keep it true. Now don’t you let me hear you apologizing for something you didn’t do, hear me?”

Thorin suddenly felt like a lad of fifty rather than a seasoned fighter with gray in his hair and beard. “Yes. Come on then, we’ll see if we can help each other stumble out and see what’s become of everything.”

“It isn’t pretty,” Balin warned him as Thorin pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“War never is.” He had to pause and take a couple deep breaths to keep himself from falling right back again. “If it was all roses…“

“Thorin?”

He looked down at his hand and opened and closed it a few times. There were no thorns in his hand and no sign of the sad flower that had caused him such agony in his dream, but he missed it like a piece of his soul now that it was gone. “It’s nothing. Just a dream I had.”

It took a few minutes, but eventually Thorin managed to climb to his feet and stagger over to where a set of clothes had been left in a neatly folded pile for him. He discovered a myriad of other aches and pains while he was pulling them on. His whole torso was a colorful tapestry of bruises and bandages and a thick sleeve of white wrapped the entirety of one of his upper arms.

“We think a warg stepped on you after you went down,” Balin explained. “The claw marks got full of old blood and dirt. Oin about popped a vein in his head trying to get it all out.”

“I’ll be sure to thank him for it later,” Thorin grunted as he tugged on a clean red shirt and a pair of trousers that were a bit too tight in the waist to be comfortable. Clearly these weren’t his clothes, but they were better than going clad in nothing but bandages. Nerveless fingers fumbled with the ties, clumsy from nerves and disuse. Balin had told him that Fili and Kili still lived, but he needed to see them for himself before he could believe it. He’d lost so much of his family already that he didn’t think he could bear to see his boys leave him as well.

He needed to hold them.   

When he didn’t collapse from the exertion of getting himself dressed, Thorin hobbled over to Balin’s side and together they managed to get him up onto his remaining leg. Thorin took Balin’s arm across his shoulder and his friend used his walking stick as a crutch of sort. They stumbled out of the medical tent into the dark and cold.

“They’re just one tent over,” Balin said, his teeth already starting to chatter in the cold. Most of the camp seemed to be sleeping and several of the torches had gone out in the fierce wind. The majority of the snow had been cleared away or melted by campfires, but it was still just deep enough to make it difficult for the two dwarves to stumble one tent over. A couple of guards looked up from where they were sitting in front of one of the fires, but Thorin managed to let go of Balin long enough to wave them back to their card game. This was a private moment and he didn’t want an audience when he went to pieces.

The wind died the moment they made it into the tent, though he could still hear it whistling outside, clawing at the heavy fabric with hungry fingers. It was dark here and he stood still for a moment to help his eyes adjust. Someone had snuffed the lantern. There were two bedrolls on the floor; he could see the edges of them in the torchlight that was coming through the crack in the tent flaps. They had been pushed together and a pair of boots was sitting at the edge of one of them.

“Go on,” Balin whispered to him. “I’m going to go see the others. I’ll get one of Dain’s folk to help me over. Just call if you need something and someone will come.”

Thorin nodded mutely, his throat closed from a swell of emotion. Balin patted his back and then hobbled back outside, leaving him alone in the dark and listening to the sound of soft snoring from his nephews.

He made it to the side of the first one before his legs gave out and he had to sit down rather hard, his head spinning like a drunk’s. The occupant of the bedroll jerked awake with a loud snort and rolled towards him.

“S’mething th’ matter? What’s going – Uncle!”

Thorin grunted as a pair of strong arms wrapped around his neck hard enough to choke him and he was dragged forward. Fili’s short-shorn hair got into his eyes and nose and mouth, but he didn’t care. They were a mess of limbs as they held each other, Fili pressed to Thorin’s chest and their hands clutching at each other in desperate joy.

“We didn’t know if – “

“Hush _nidoyel,_ I’m here.”

“But we thought you were _dead_ Thorin, when Beorn pulled you out and – “

“I’m not dead, breathe Fili.” His nephew had started to hiccup and cry at the same time and Thorin felt matching tears pouring down his own cheeks.  

“Was’ happenin? Fee, shove over, I can’t see through you.”

Thorin shifted slightly, unable to go far because Fili was clinging to him with a death hold and Kili made a garbled noise and leaned forward as far as he could. There was no way to tell whose arm was whose or who was the one crying after that, with as tangled together as the three of them were. Thorin would have been content to stay like that for hours, holding onto his boys and being held in return, but Fili made a sound of pain when Kili shifted and it put weight onto one of his legs and Thorin was forced to release them both so that he could check on them.

What he found made him ill.

One of Fili’s legs had been broken so badly that it had been bound up in a splint to keep it straight, with boards on either side of it and linens wrapped tight around the whole thing. Fili didn’t speak as Thorin inspected the injury. He seemed beyond words and could only sniffle and cough occasionally to clear his throat.

“He got kneecapped,” Kili explained from where he had fallen back on his own bedroll. “My fault. I pushed him out of the way and he went down on a rock or a hammer someone had dropped. Not sure which, I was out after that.”

“You saved me with that push,” Fili said roughly. “If you hadn’t, I would be a pile of ash instead of sitting here with a bum leg.”

“Ash?” Thorin asked in confusion and Fili and Kili exchanged a glance in the dark before Fili leaned back and rekindled their lantern.

Kili had been burned.

A thick paste covered a good part of his face and most of his left side that showed above his blanket. His left arm had been bound and strapped to his side, but Thorin knew it had probably received the same treatment.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Kili hastened to assure him.

“Yes it is,” Fili argued. “You almost died. He only woke up two days ago and Oin has been keeping him hazy on tonics and that paste to keep the pain down.”

“Shut up Fili – “

“I won’t shut up! I thought you were going to die, and Uncle wasn’t waking up, I thought you were both going to die!” The prince snapped, fresh tears falling from his bright eyes. “I thought you were going to – to leave me – “

“We won’t, we’re here,” Thorin said soothingly, letting Fili tuck himself up against his side again and stroking his nephew’s hair with the hand he wasn’t using to hold onto Kili’s unburned one. “How were you burned?” He asked Kili quietly before pressing a soft kiss to the top of Fili’s head. His nephew whimpered.

“Smaug came,” Kili said and squeezed Thorin’s hand tightly enough for him to feel it in his bones. “I think he’s the only reason we won. He smashed down the front gates and breathed fire right down the middle of the battlefield. Most folk had enough sense to get out of the way before he did it, but we were too close. I saw him coming but Fili didn’t…” Kili’s eyes looked nearly yellow in the lantern light, wide and full of remembered terrors.  

“I was trying to get to you. I saw you go down after Bolg hit you with that mace,” Fili said into his shoulder. “I should have heard the sound of the gates coming down; everybody else did, but not me.”

His hands convulsed around his nephews and Kili looked up at him in concern.

“He ended the battle, Uncle. I think our enemies thought he was dead, so once he came out they all scattered. Balin said it was just a route after that.”

“We lost good people to his fire,” Fili said grimly.

“We would have lost more lives to orc swords,” Kili said and there was a sharpness in his voice that Thorin had never heard there before. His nephew had found the steel in his bones while he’d been sleeping. “Maybe ours.”

“Don’t speak of that,” Thorin said. “I will not think about how close I came to burying you right now.”

The three of them were silent for a time and then Kili laughed softly.

“What?”

“Mum would have killed you if we died.”

“Leave your mother out of this; she may still end me for the state you’re both in.” The thought of Dis’ wrath made him shudder. His sister’s temper was nothing to be trifled with and he dreaded sending the message that would tell her that both of her boys were alive, just a bit maimed. She would personally carve every one of their scars onto him for letting them get hurt.

It was nothing he didn’t deserve though, and he would have taken them all without complaint if it would erase them from his nephew’s bodies.

“Will you stay with us?” Fili asked softly.

_“Stay.”_

_“I’ll stay. I’ll stay…”_

“Yes, I’ll stay. In the morning we’ll go and see the others.” he answered, a sharp throb in his head making that half-recalled memory fade back into the depths of his shaken mind. Both of his nephews sighed in relief and Fili finally released him. It took a bit of maneuvering and there were a couple breathed curses when weight or pressure was put onto an injury, but Thorin eventually managed to work his way between his nephews and they all settled in. Fili blew out the lantern and curled up against Thorin’s back, while Kili settled on his unburned side and lay at his front.

His boys were alive. They were safe. That was all that mattered for now. In the morning he would assess what damage had been dealt to his mountain and his people and do his best to figure out why he felt like he was forgetting something vitally important.

__________________________________

_“You’re to be our burglar.”_

_“T-That’s what they tell me.”_

_“You don’t look much like a burglar.”_

_“So what are burglars supposed to look like?”_

_“Not like you.”_

__________________________________

The morning light revealed the extent of the damage and it was both better and worse than Thorin could have imagined. He’d seen the aftermath of battle before at Moria and that had fueled his nightmares for years after. There weren’t as many dead in front of Erebor, but that didn’t settle his heart at all.

Dain stood at his side at the top of Ravenhill and together they looked over the deserted battlefield. Smoke rose in thick, greasy columns from the piles of dead orcs and goblins that they had set to the torch yesterday and the whole place smelled like charred meat. At least it overpowered the acid scent of dragon fire.

“You wouldn’t have believed it,” Dain said. His cousin hadn’t escaped injury. His boar had been slain and sent him falling from its back, where he had broken several ribs. It hadn’t stopped him from making his rounds through the camp to check on his men though and he had been delighted to find Thorin awake that morning. Thorin had been loath to leave his nephews, but neither was in any shape to be leaving their beds just yet, so he was forced to leave them behind as he accompanied Dain to see what damage Azog and Smaug had wrought.

“I saw the whole thing. The orc I was fightin’ – a big bastard, big as Azog himself – froze and looked back o’er my shoulder. I gutted him and then I heard it. Horrid rippin’ sound like some fell beast had come up from the pits to drag us all down. Your doors went flyin’ off; you can see one of ‘em over there.” He pointed further off down the road and Thorin could indeed see the twisted shape of something that might have been a grand golden door at one point. The other was nowhere to be found.

“I guess we’d been makin’ too much noise for your ‘dead’ dragon, Cousin. But your nephew told us you knew nothin’ about it, so I guess I can’t fault you for him bein’ in there.”

“Is he still?” Thorin asked, looking down at the massive scorch mark that marred the battlefield. It was long enough that it would have taken him several minutes to walk the entire length of it. How many soldiers had been incinerated by that terrible fire? They would never find their bodies and any armor of jewelry they might have worn had been melted. There was nothing left of them to send to their families.

 _Be grateful none of your Company was caught by it_ he told himself.

“Aye, that he is. You should’ve seen it, I do every time I close my damn eyes now. Stretched out that long neck and snapped the goblin king off his cart like he was a sugar snack, fire still drippin’ between his teeth. Then he turned around again when he saw everyone scatterin’ like ants and trudged straight back in. Haven’t seen hide nor scale of him since and I’m grateful for it. I’ve set a handful of guards on the hole inside t’ keep anybody curious from goin’ in and rousin’ him again. Th’ elf and his ilk have retreated back to the forest edge but they aren’t gone, and most’ve the men are mixed in with the rest of us. They’ll be wantin’ a word sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll speak with them tomorrow. That will be soon enough,” Thorin grumbled and they turned back to the path down the hill. He’d seen enough to satisfy him for now and his body was already starting to protest the excursion. Now he wanted to check on the rest of his men. Oin had caught him outside the tent that morning, informed him that most of them were still sleeping and that he wasn’t to rouse them for another few hours. With that bug in his ear, he had allowed Dain to commandeer him.  

“When did we get so old and sore?” He asked as they stumbled down the hill together.

Dain laughed and gingerly touched his ribs. “Speak for yourself. You were born old, Cousin.”

“I’m starting to believe that.”

                Oin was nowhere to be found when Thorin made it back to the large tent that was housing his men, but there was the sound of voices coming from inside so he assumed that he was allowed in. Whether or not they would hate him for the injuries that had been done to them while they followed him…he wouldn’t stand outside like a coward and worry about that. They had been willing to follow him into death before, and now he would find out whether they intended to in life as well.

At first no one realized that he had come in. Oin was puttering about between bedrolls with Ori trailing after him holding onto his case of tonics and medical equipment. The young scribe had a plaster over his nose, but other than that seemed to be well enough.

“Stop squirmin’,” Oin was telling Gloin as he checked on a nasty slash that curved down his brother’s face and into his beard. It would leave a fine scar when it healed over, but until then it was red and raw-looking. 

“I told you it’s fine, stop fussin’ over me.”

“I’ll fuss over who I choose, and it’s your turn! Now let me put a fresh bandage on this so you don’t get infected and leave Gimli as a fatherless ne’er-do-well.”

“Don’t you call him a – “

“Oi, his majesty has come to pay a call on us common folk!” Bofur said from the other side of the tent! The miner had half his head hidden in bandages, but he was smiling as he waved at Thorin. That got the attention of the rest of them and Thorin quickly found himself dragged further in and shoved onto a stool.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Oin grumbled at him and pushed a vial of something milky-white into his hands. “And drink that.”

“Do I want to know what it is?” Thorin asked wryly.

“Probably not.”

“Hold your nose when you drink it,” Ori advised softly. “That way you won’t taste it as much.”

It turned out to be sound advice. Whatever herbs Oin had used to make the tonic probably weren’t meant to be mixed together as they had been. The foul concoction was thick and chunky and even with his nose held Thorin could taste the pungent flavor of vinegar.

“I think I preferred the mead,” he coughed as he handed the vial back to Oin.

“Aye, they all do ‘til they realize that bein’ drunk don’t stop the pain – just makes you care about it less for a bit.”

“That was one mornin’-after  could’ve passed on,” Bofur groaned and flopped back onto the coat he was using as a pillow. The miner’s hat lay next to him, looking sad and ripped and bloodstained.

The rest of the dwarves didn’t look much better than the hat.

“Tell me,” thorin ordered Oin as softly as he could and the doctor nodded as he handed Ori another vial to carry to one of his patients.

“It could’ve been worse. Far worse, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. Balin lost the only limb so far and we got that cauterized pretty quick. No sign of the rot on anyone either, which is fortunate since I don’t have enough of anythin’ to fight that.”

“But?” Thorin prompted, watching as Ori handed the vial to one of Dain’s guards. The Company was sharing the tent with other wounded dwarves, most of whom were sleeping or staring forlornly at the roof of the tent.

“But that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. You’ve seen your lads; I had a damn hard time keepin’ Kili in this world with his skin charred so bad. I had t’ move Dwalin and Dori t’ another quieter tent so they wouldn’t be bothered.”

Thorin felt sick. “How are they?”

“Dori broke most’ve his ribs and one of ‘em nicked a lung. Should close up on its own, but he’s down until the whistlin’ stops. Dwalin probably got the worst of it though. Got a big gash ‘cross his chest and another on his face.”

“His face again?”

Oin nodded gravely. “But worse. I couldn’t save his eyes. He hasn’t woke up yet and I’m startin’ t’ wonder if he will at all.”

“By the good stone…” Thorin groaned and buried his face in his hands. If Dwalin survived his wounds, he would be blind. He would never fight again and that would be worse than death to his friend. A dwarf who couldn’t see couldn’t protect himself or craft properly. “And the rest?” He needed some good news.    

“Not much better. Bombur has more luck than every dwarrow put together – he just got his beard split so he’s helpin’ in the cook tent right now with Bifur. That old badger came close t’ getting’ his throat cut and then a boar fell on him. We thought he was dead when we yanked him out ‘til Ori heard him snorin’.”

“With as heavy as those beasts are it should have broken every bone in his body.”

“Aye well, that line always had a vein of iron to keep them sturdy. Probably why Bofur is still with us at all. Fool took a crack to the head like you and kept runnin’ around. He seems a’right ‘cept for that he’s got in the habit of talkin’ to folk who aren’t there. Doesn’t seem much bothered by it though and I’m no expert on the mind, so maybe it’ll fade with time.”

They both looked at Bofur, who was humming something and smiling at the empty bedroll next to him. Ori had settled himself on the miner’s other side and was trying to clean their mittens.

“He’s a good lad, Ori,” Oin said. “He’s had a rough time of things. Keepin’ himself busy by helpin’ me while Dori is laid up and Nori still missin’.”

“Nori’s gone?”

The doctor nodded. “We dug him out from under one of those brute trolls that was towin’ the goblin’s cart and he stuck ‘round long enough for me t’ wrap up his hands. Every damn finger was stickin’ the wrong way, poor bugger. I think it was a hammer from the looks of it. Anyway, he took one peek at the two I’ve got in the quiet tent and bolted like a cat. Haven’t seen anythin’ of him since, but Ori seems t’ think that he’s still around. Hope he comes back soon though, or I’ll have t’ re-break all those fingers when they set wrong.”

“He’ll come back,” Thorin said with a confidence he didn’t feel. His best friend was stuck on the bridge between life and death, his nephews were bed-bound, and there was still the matter of the dragon sitting on his gold to deal with. It was times like this he wished that Dis had agreed to accompany him instead of remaining behind to look after the Blue Mountains. Her council would have been more than welcomed now.

“I have to speak with Dain,” he sighed, his headache coming back with a vengeance. Oin’s potion had dulled it for a few minutes, but no amount of herbs was going to fix the lump he had on the back of his head. “At least the Company survived. I’ll take that and go from there.”

There came a small, broken sound from Ori and the scribe dropped his mittens before scrambling to his feet and bolting out of the tent like his boots were on fire. Thorin watched him go in surprise and then raised an eyebrow at Oin.

The expression on the doctor’s face was clearly pity.

“What?” What was he forgetting? It nagged at him from the sore part of his mind but refused to be called forward. There was a wash of white-hot agony when he tried.

“You’re forgetting someone, Thorin Oakenshield.”

The tent flap parted and a tall man dressed all in gray stepped inside, his pointed hat in one and and his staff in the other.

“Gandalf,” Thorin greeted him, rubbing his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pressure there.

The wizard ignored him. “I’ve seen this a time or two,” he told Oin. “The mind protects itself from particularly painful memories by burying them. The blow to his head no doubt helped with that.”

“What are you talking about?” Thorin snapped in growing agitation. “Why won’t you simply tell me what it is that I’ve forgotten so that I can add it to my ever-growing list of troubles? I have neither the time nor the patience for riddles at the moment.”

“But you have time for your Company and it seems that you’ve managed to forget one of them entirely.”

A horrified silence hung in the medical tent. No one spoke. No one dared to.

“Who?” Thorin finally whispered. “How could I have forgotten something as a member of my own company?”  

“As I said, the mind will bury what it cannot accept,” Gandalf said and lowered his twisted staff until it touched Thorin’s forehead. “But you cannot be allowed that luxury right now. _Remember your burglar_.” 

_“What am I going to do with you?”_

Curly hair.

_“I’ve known some stubborn dwarves in my life Thorin Oakenshield, but you are and always will be the most thickheaded fool I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across!”_

Wide, honest eyes.

_“We’re just built for comfortable things.”_

The smell of grass and soap and pipe smoke.

_“I’m not going to forget you. Never.”_

“Bilbo,” he breathed in shock. How could he have forgotten? The memories came so fiercely that they rocked him back on his stool and Oin had to steady him to keep him from falling to the ground.

_“I didn’t betray you, I would never. I love you.”_

“I locked him in,” he choked as he pulled at his unbraided hair. “He knew about Smaug, he harbored him, he - !”

_“I have to protect you!”_

He’d been trying to help and Thorin had locked him up like a common criminal rather than the one who had followed him into danger, who had shared his bed and his confidence, and who he had been coming to love with every piece of his shriveled old heart. He’d threatened Bilbo with execution, and not a kind one.

“Did someone find him?” He asked, so full of shame that it was strangling him. “Please tell me that he hasn’t been locked in my chamber for the last three days while I slept.”

“No, he is no longer in your chamber,” Gandalf said slowly and let go of his shoulder.

Thorin sagged in relief. “Then I bid you take me to wherever he is now, or fetch me a pony if he has departed. I would not blame him for doing so. I have much to atone for.”

“Any atoning you wish to do will be too little and too late,” said Gandalf. “But I will take you to him nonetheless. Rise now and I will show you the way.”

__________________________________

It had started to snow again by the time they made it to the marker. It was half-buried in a drift and there were no words carved onto its surface, but its purpose could not be mistaken. It was a lonely little thing, set into the side of the mountain away from the battle and the stench of char and death. In the summer grass would grow here, but little else. It was simply one rock among many others and the only unique thing about it was who had been buried beneath it.

“He wouldn’t have wanted to be entombed in the mountain, so I suggested this place.” Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff and stood back as Thorin approached the stone. “Hobbits bury their dead and plant flowers over them, though that isn’t feasible at the moment.” The old wizard settled his hat back on his head and suddenly seemed as ancient as the mountain itself. “I was there when he gave his parents back to the earth.”

Thorin had no words. They had been stolen from him, ripped out of his heart and blown away on the cold wind. His breath bloomed white as he struggled to the foot of the little grave. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Snow closed around his legs as they gave out and he fell to his knees, reaching out for the little stone.

A flower had been carved into the corner, small enough that he hadn’t seen it at first. His fingers brushed over it, tracing the little stem and delicate petals captured forever in stone.  

“How did this happen?”

How could he have let this happen?

“I arrived after the battle had already begun but from what I can piece together from ten different accounts, Bilbo came out of the mountain and was stabbed by a goblin blade while he searched for you. He then summoned Smaug and led him out to end the fighting.”

Bilbo had brought the dragon.

 _“Beware the blue knife and the dragon’s fire, for they shall ride together!”_ Cried the raven from his poisoned dream.

His hobbit, his brave, brave love, had brought a dragon to save them.

“He was gone by the time I found him, not far from the front gate. I don’t think that he suffered for very long, or that he even remembered that he had been wounded towards the end.” Gandalf hesitated as if he had been on the verge of saying something, but instead he simply bowed his head. “He knew the risk, Thorin. It was the price that he paid to save you and your nephews.”  

“To save me and my nephews,” Thorin repeated bleakly. “He wasn’t even a dwarf and he did more than any of us.”

“He – “

“Leave us.”

“I don’t think that it’s wise –“

“ _I said leave us!_ ” Thorin screamed, still on his knees.

He didn’t hear the wizard go, but when he looked up Gandalf had gone and he was alone in the swirling stone with only the grave marker as his company.

“You weren’t – you weren’t _supposed_ to get hurt,” he whispered to it, one hand on the stone and the other buried deep in the snow beneath him. He wanted to dig into it with his bare hands, to pull aside the earth and rocks so that he would know this was all a dream. There was no one here, no cold, bloodless body beneath him. Bilbo was still in his room, locked in, safe, and hating him.

Happily he would have taken that hatred over…this.

 _“You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for you, and you probably never will. I gave up my home, my family, my_ life _for you! I’ve had knives at my throat and fire at my back and warg teeth in my flesh all because I chose to come on this suicidal adventure for you!”_

The words were ghosts on the wind and every one was a hammer blow that laid him lower and lower until his back was bowed like a broken tree.

“You aren’t here,” he told the grave. “You can’t be. I won’t let you be dead!” He shouted at it, but the stone remained a terrible reality.

“Please,” he sobbed as his tears froze on his cheeks. “ _Please_. You said you wouldn’t leave me…”

The King Under the Mountain knelt on the mountainside and wept as his heart turned to ice and shattered in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please try to remember that I still have the 'eventual happy ending' tag, though that seems nearly impossible right now.


	61. Crystal Flowers - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Emotional Pain

**Three days later...**

 

“We cannot continue like this.”

Dain’s fingers tapped restlessly against top solid top of the war table. No figures or feast graced it now, only pages and pages of figures and maps. The numbers counted the dead, wounded, and missing. The maps showed the devastation that had been wrought on the battlefield. The names of soldiers, men, and elves alike were listed there, as well as their ranks, and a pile of beads sat nearby. They had been taken from the bodies of the fallen dwarrows to send to their kin and that pile was growing larger by the day as soldiers succumbed to their wounds. There was little they could do to stop it.

“We came under the assumption that Erebor’s gates would be open to us,” Maibe said from her place at Dain’s right side. The dwarrowdam laid one gloved hand over her husband’s wrist to still his fidgeting. “The winter is growing worse and neither our supplies nor our soldiers can survive this immobility until spring arrives.” The golden rings in her lips disappeared into her mouth and there was the click of metal against teeth. The southern Queen was not as outwardly agitated as her husband, but even she could not be entirely still.

“Just so, my love,” Dain agreed. “Not that anyone blames you for that fat lizard, Cousin. Unfortunate setback, but we need to find a way t’ handle it sooner rather than later. Doesn’t look good in th’ history books t’ win the battle and then freeze t’ death right after.”

Thorin stared at the bead closest to him. It had rolled off the top of the pile when they had all seated themselves more than three hours earlier and now it rested next to his hand. It was simple silver with delicate runes that read ‘Beloved’ in Khuzdul carved into it. There was a small ruby at one end. The name of the dwarf who had once worn it would be carved into the other side – all warriors were supposed to wear beads with their names on them, so that in the event of their death their commander would know what names to carve onto their tomb. Would this dwarrow’s beloved make the pilgrimage to Erebor to visit that tomb, or would they keep away from the shadow of the mountain that had stolen their love?

There was no way to know and he didn’t think that he ever wanted to. There were enough strikes against him without adding this unknown soldier’s name to the burden he carried.

“Cousin?” Dain said loudly. Balin nudged him and Thorin snapped back to attention.

“My apologies, my mind was elsewhere.”

“Well call it back and set it on the table,” Dain said gruffly. “We’ve all lost friends but this isn’t the time t’ mourn them or else we might be doin’ it for even more. They’re mostly my soldiers, but your lot can’t be doin’ any better out in the cold than the rest.”

“There are storms brewing on the horizon,” said Balin, who had his hands folded on top of his belly. “And these are true ones that will bury us with blizzards. We may be a hearty folk but winter will always take a price from those unfortunate enough to be caught outside.” The old dwarrow’s face had grown gaunt in the past few days from pain and stress. His leg had been bound to the best of Oin’s ability, but a cauterized wound had dangers of its own. Thorin had initially thought to bar Balin from their meeting and insisted that the old dwarrow remain in his bed to prevent further damage, but Balin had told him exactly what he could do with that opinion and come anyway. Thorin was privately grateful for it. Balin’s steady presence helped to ground him and keep his attention on the topic at hand rather than allowing it to stray too far.

As Balin spoke with Dain about the dangers that the weather presented to the camp, Thorin allowed himself a moment to look around the table and the powerful figures gathered there.

Maibe’s two Road-wed scouts were seated with their backs to the tent opening and their hands on the weapons at their belts, always alert. Neither had spoken since the meeting had been called to order, but their bright eyes watched everything with such keen awareness that it made Thorin shift uncomfortably. Southern dwarves were different than those who lived north of Harad. They saw more and cared less. He doubted either of them would mourn for those who had fallen in battle. The pair of them were like two dark wargs, always looking for weakness. When they noticed him watching they both showed their sharp smiles and he quickly looked away.

Next to them sat the new lord of Lake-Town, Bard. His face was decorated by white bandages that hid the long scratch that had nearly ended his life. According to his report, when what remained of his men returned home they found that the Master had fled (along with anything of value in his manor) when Smaug made his appearance. Most of the town seemed to consider this a blessing and Bard had been elected to oversee the place in his absence. He was being hailed as a hero because it had been his arrow, a black one fired from an impossible distance, which had slain Bolg as he dueled with Thranduil upon a pile of corpses.

The elven king himself sat next to Bard, his face impassive. If he had sustained any injury, Thorin had heard no word of it and the king disguised it well. The elves had been dragged into combat unwillingly, but now that the dust had settled Thranduil seemed determined to see the aftermath of it through to the bitter end.

 _And collect whatever is owed to him_ , Thorin thought bitterly. That was one blessing in disguise – so long as Smaug occupied the mountain the elves couldn’t take a single coin of the treasure that lay therein. They were as bad as the carrion crows and vultures that still circled Erebor, picking at the frozen corpses of orcs and goblins that hadn’t been burned on one of the grizzly pyres.

“I would offer you the hospitality of my realm,” Thranduil said slowly, as if the words were causing him great pain. Thorin imagined they probably tasted like dirt. “In the spirit of repairing old rifts between our kingdoms, I open the Greenwood to you for the time being. Your nephews,” he glanced at Thorin, “one or the other, saved my son from a killing blow when I was too far away to do so myself. I would repay that debt with whatever aid I can.”

“Aah, I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Bard interjected. “Moving the wounded would take a lot of time and those storms will be here by midday tomorrow. At least here there’s the buffer of the mountain to break it a bit. Meaning no offense, of course,” he added to Thranduil, “but we’ve got folk in those tents being seen to and I don’t like the idea of them being stuck out in the open or in the back of some cart when that snow and ice starts getting bad.”

“No one wants that. It’d be a death march, no doubt about it.” Dain tugged on his beard. “Thorin, where’s that wizard when you need him? He could send the storm elsewhere and save us the trouble it’s bringing.”

“He doesn’t deal with the weather,” Thorin answered. “You’d need another wizard for that.”

“The wizard was last seen traveling west with the skin changer,” Maibe said. “There has been no sign of him since he entered the woods.”

Beorn had been the rock that crushed dozens of goblins and orcs as they fled from Smaug’s wrath. The bear changer had come up from the forest and met them with teeth and claws. Those that had escaped him had been harried by giant eagles and those that remained after that were even now being hunted through Mirkwood by its prince and a force of elven hunters. They may have survived the battle, but few survived the forest.

“That leaves the mountain,” Maibe continued. She had looped her long braid of braids with its golden spikes around her neck in two thick loops, though none of the spines were turned to touch her flesh.

“So we’re back t’ the dragon.” Dain leaned back in his chair and glared at the papers in front of him. “You two,” he said to Ahdri and Telwre. Ahdri stopped using a splinter of the table as a toothpick and they both raised their brows at Dain in unison. “I know you’ve been snooping around, what do you know about Smaug?”

“I ordered them to snoop, _Mizimûn_.”

“Only because I wouldn’t let you do it yourself!”

“Just because I listen to your requests does not mean you could stop me from doing anything, husband mine. I suggest you keep that in the front of your mind.”

“Perhaps this is a discussion for another time,” Balin said tactfully. The rest of the table had suddenly found something very interesting to occupy each of their attentions while Dain and Maibe glared at each other.

“He’s a tough old beast,” Ahdri said from his side of the war table, his voice low enough that it was almost hard to hear. “He knew we’d been about, came sniffing after us and came right to the hall. Not passed it though. He’ll not be lured out just by a dwarrow or two walking about.”

“You went _in?_ ” Bard asked incredulously. “That should have been suicide.”

The big southern dwarf shrugged his tattooed shoulders. “Needed to be done. He’s there to stay though, that’s for sure. You might be able to deal with him if you had an army, and fresh one, but he’d kill most of them before you drove him out.”

“Drove him out?” Thorin repeated.

Telwre nodded. “Not kill. You cannot kill a creature who is so close to the Vala that crafted his kind. They were made strong and mighty, enough to wipe out armies like this one as if we were nothing. You cannot kill Smaug with swords or axes - they will not pierce his hide and if he had any soft spots they have long been covered over with layers of gold and silver.”

“I won’t send the rest of my soldiers in to face dragon fire,” Dain said firmly. 

Thranduil’s face was as hard and grim as the silver ice on his crown. “Nor I mine. I know its power better than most and I would not willingly see it unleashed again.”

“So we can’t kill Smaug or march against him,” Balin summarized. “Do we abandon the mountain now that it is finally won? That would be a bitter pill for many to swallow.”

“We will not go.”

The table’s attention turned back to Thorin.

“Your quest was an admirable one, Cousin,” Dain said. “Foolhardy, but admirable. This isn’t a matter of a dangerous road now; this is a situation that requires a bit of tact.”

“What are you implying?” Thorin growled.

“That you don’t have a drop of it to cam your hot blood!” Dain shouted. “If we have to bargain with that beast to get your throne back, so be it. But you won’t be the one to do it.”

“It is _my_ mountain!” Thorin snarled across the table. “ _Mine._ My company was the only ones who would stand with me! Bleed with me! D – “ He broke off, unable to continue.

Die for him.

Dain’s face softened but lost none of its sternness. “Which is why it will not be you, Cousin. You’ve always had a suicidal streak, even if you didn’t know it yourself. You got it from your grandfather. He was too stubborn to see the value of his own life either. See _reason,_ Thorin, for once in your damn life. If Smaug isn’t open t’ being bargained with he will no doubt kill whoever we send t’ meet him. Don’t make me carve your name onto a tomb along with the rest of these.” The king of the Iron Hills gestured at the pile of ownerless beads on the table.

Exhaustion descended onto Thorin like a cape of lead. In his heart he knew that Dain spoke the truth and he heard what his cousin wasn’t saying. In his state he would only enrage Smaug. His animosity for the dragon was too great for him to be a fit diplomat and if Smaug took too much offense he was liable to unleash his fire on the camp.

In short, he was unfit and a liability.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of voices and gesturing. More papers were drawn up, plans and promises of payment and aid. Balin did most of the talking for the dwarves of Erebor, bringing up agreements that had been decided on without Thorin’s knowledge. Every minute that passed was more unbearable than the last and he couldn’t speak to lend council for fear that the wrong words would come boiling up out of his throat like hot poison.

“It seems premature to decide what to do with the spoils of the mountain when Smaug still guards it,” someone said and Thorin glanced up from scratching at a gouge on the side of the table.

“That doesn’t negate that we were promised part of those spoils. In fact I believe that Master Balin drew up a document that promised half of a fourteenth share to Lake-Town to be used to rebuild Dale on behalf of Bilbo Baggins.” Bard glanced over at Balin. “Unless his death negates that contract?”

The tension around the table increased tenfold and everyone was suddenly very aware of exactly who was armed and who had left their swords in their tents.

“It stands,” Thorin said softly. “We will honor B – Master Baggins’ contracts.”

“The other half was promised to Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, on the condition that he aid us in battle,” Balin said, a set of spectacles perched on his hooked nose so that he could look down at the papers in front of him. “Clearly Bilbo had little interest in keeping any of his share for himself since he effectively bargained every coin away to secure us much needed alliances. What say you to that?” He asked Thorin.

“I said we would honor them!” Thorin snapped. “I don’t care if he wanted to give it all to a damn troll, just do it!” He hadn’t known about either of these contracts, but really, with as many secrets as Bilbo had kept it shouldn’t have surprised him. The hobbit had always done things by extremes and this was no exception. No one could have been more selfless when faced with unimaginable wealth. What had he wanted to do with his share? Cover all of Erebor in rose bushes?

There was a sharp spike of pain in his hand and Thorin looked down, half expecting to see the dying rose from his dream clutched in his hand. It was only a splinter from picking at the table.

“Excuse me,” he said abruptly and stood so quickly that his chair tipped backwards and hit the ground with a heavy ‘ _thunk_ ’. Balin reached out as if to steady him but Thorin stepped around the chair too quickly and avoided his friend’s hand. “I – Please continue. Balin will speak for me. There’s something that needs my attention.” He swept from the tent before he could be called back, skirting around Ahdri and Telwre and out into the cold.

Of course there was nothing he needed to see to and no doubt everyone knew it, but he could not bear to sit at that table for a moment longer and listen to their dealings and plans that he could not help with. How hadn’t he known about Bilbo’s dealings with Thranduil and Bard? Had the hobbit trusted him so little that he hadn’t felt that he could tell him about how he had bargained away a fourteenth of the mountain’s treasure?

_He couldn’t have told you. Each time he tried to bring up something that you didn’t agree with or approve of you acted like a monster and sent him running scared. It’s a wonder he would even come near you with as wild as you were._

Wild as he still was, no doubt. His temper wasn’t something that could be shed as easily as a pair of boots, but now that burning fury in him was tempered by a sickly wall of grief and guilt that smothered it when it tried to send up sparks.

There was nothing for him to do. Nothing that he could do to make things any better.

He wandered. 

No one called out to him or tried to stop him as he made his way through the camp. He was a king here, no longer a homeless wanderer, and yet he had never felt so lost in all his life. There was a fog in his mind that the bright winter sun could not burn away. It was keeping something terrible at bay, keeping him safe behind a blanket of confusion and disconnect. That thing was dark and vast with claws that it longed to sink into his heart and rip until there was nothing left of him left to piece back together. Right now he couldn’t afford to let it in. There were too many eyes here to stop hiding and let himself be eaten up.

“Thorin?”

He jumped and realized that he’d been staring blankly off towards the growing storm. His eyes were dry and burning from the cold wind and he blinked rapidly to ease the sting before turning to regard his cousin. “Dain. Was the meeting that easily concluded? I would have stayed if I’d known you’d be on my heels.”

Dain’s hand closed on his shoulder and squeezed tightly. “It lasted for another two hours after you departed, Cousin.”

“Ah…” He’d been walking for longer than he’d thought, lost in his own head. It hadn’t been a pleasant trip. “And what conclusions did you come to?”

Dain released his shoulder and turned to face the open road with him. Mirkwood was a dark line far away, and above it the winter storm grew ever closer. “I didn’t mean t’ kill him,” Dain said eventually. “Azog. I know how bad you wanted it t’ be you who took his head and I didn’t want t’ take that from you. You’ve lost more than I have t’ his hands and it should’ve been your victory.”

“Dain – “

“Let me finish, you lump. I saw you go down and I would’ve put gold that the back of your head had been smashed clear through to your face. I thought you were _dead_ , Cousin. I hardly believed it when your healer told me that you still lived. But when I saw you fall I was so angry that Azog had stolen another member of my family that I could not hold myself back.” He nodded off towards the charred remains of the funeral pyres where they had stacked the bodies of their foes like kindling and set them ablaze. “He killed my mount before I took his head, and snapped most of my ribs like twigs. I would offer it to you but we burned it along with the rest of him. All that was left was that iron hand of his. I would give it to you as a gift, and as an apology.”

“In truth I had thought little of him in the past few days, except in passing gratitude that he was finally gone,” Thorin admitted. “If you hadn’t brought him up I might have forgotten entirely for some time. Don’t let it weight on you, Dain. You succeeded where I failed and the world is a better place for it now.”

“So I’m guessing you don’t want his hook?”

Thorin grimaced. “No, I don’t want anything of that monster. Melt it down or throw it into a chasm where no one will find it.” Azog had killed his grandfather, his troops had stolen Frerin from him, and no doubt he’d had a hand in torturing his father. Thorin didn’t want to chance any lingering evil from the pale orc lingering about to do any more harm, no matter how small.

“Aye, no need t’ do him the honor of being remembered. I’ll be rid of it before the night comes.”  

“Thank you.”

Dain just grunted and shifted so that he could sit down on the rock next to him. “As for the rest, it’s all papers and legal shite. Maibe’s sticking around a bit longer to hammer out the finer bits of everything that I don’t have the patience for. She’s got a mind like a steel trap, doesn’t miss a beat. I told you about how she tried t’ slit my throat first time we met?”

“Twice,” Thorin replied.

“Never courted a dwarrowdam through jail bars before that, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything. At least when she broke out she decided I looked better with my neck as is rather than smiling open. Anyway, point is that she’s sticking back with those lake men and that gaudy elf t’ make something that’ll hold together well enough t’ suit everybody, even you. Of course, that all depends on whether or not Smaug feels like giving up a cent of anything.”

“And how to you plan on dealing with that?” Thorin asked as he crossed his arms. The sun was sinking down behind the clouds now and cast the snow and stone in hues of orange and violet.

“Balin volunteered.”

_“What?”_

“Hear me out before you start smashing things. He’s the obvious pick for the job. He’s good with words Thorin, you know that well as I.”

“He’s only got one leg,” Thorin growled.

“So? So do I and I’m still hobbling around pretty well.” Dain leaned over and pulled the leg of his pants out of his boot, revealing a thick iron stump inlaid with steel to keep it sturdy. It was the same size and shape as his other leg and there was even a clever joint in the ankle that let the foot part of it move around.

Thorin instantly felt a wave of guilt that crushed his anger. Dain got around so well on his false leg that it was easy to forget that he was missing one at all. It had certainly never slowed him in battle and to imply that Balin was less of a dwarf because he matched the king of the Iron Hills was an insult that could not be taken lightly.

“I didn’t mean – “

“I know what you meant. His is a raw wound and we don’t have anything proper t’ give him to replace it right now. Like I was saying, he volunteered but I turned him down. I’ve got two of my commanders who said they’d go in and do the work of convincing a dragon t’ share. They’re good enough at what they do, certainly better than you or I. Rough living has given you a rough tongue, Cousin.”

“Can you blame me?” Thorin sighed and slumped down on the rock next to Dain while he tucked his pants back in to keep snow from getting in around his false leg. “But if mine is rough from rough living, what did living in the Iron Hills do to yours?”

“Make it taste bad!” Dain laughed. Then his face grew more somber and he leaned enough to touch his shoulder to Thorin’s. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“My loss?”

“The Halfling? I thought that you were fond of him. Maybe I was wrong, since you haven’t gone t’ visit his resting place since you found out about it.”

The fog got thinner and the claws got closer.

 _He isn’t dead. This is some trick of Gandalf’s, it has to be. He’s spirited Bilbo away to somewhere safe…safe from me. I didn’t see him buried._ There was a frantic voice somewhere inside of him that wouldn’t be silenced and its voice spoke of hope.

“I’ve had other things to do.”

“Thorin – “

“I do not wish to speak about this! Send in your men to face the dragon, barter away every coin in the mountain, it makes no difference to me. Just leave me be, Dain.”

“I know what you’re doing, Thorin. In your head. It isn’t healthy t’ avoid things like that.”

_“I said leave me be!”_

 When Dain made no move to go, Thorin took it upon himself to put the necessary distance between himself and his cousin. He would not – could not, hear any more. This was worse than the gold madness. That had been akin to having a golden axe hanging over his head, held up by rapidly fraying threads of his sanity. This on the other hand, this monster was coming after him with the intent to destroy. The axe didn’t care whose neck it fell upon, but this thing, this nightmare, wanted him and only him. He couldn’t let it yet. There were things that he had to see, to prove to himself that –

“How’d it go?” Dwalin asked when Thorin pushed his way into their shared tent. He had given up his private one so that Oin and the other healers could have an operating room and now shared this one with Dwalin, Balin, and his nephews. It kept the cold at bay a bit more, being surrounded by friends and family. Right now only Dwalin was there, propped up on his bed roll with his eyes and chest still covered by bandages.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Nobody else in here tromps around like they’ve got th’ mountain sittin’ on their damn shoulders. Plus I heard you mutterin’ to yourself when you came in.”

“I’m starting to think that I should get a hammer and knock you back out for a little while,” Thorin muttered as he sat down on his own bedroll and started to wrestle off his boots.

“I’ve only been up for a day and a bit, give me a bit longer t’ enjoy the dulcet tones of your voice.”

“Maybe Dain will let me borrow his axe…”

“Some friend you are.” Dwalin reached up and scratched at the bandages where they covered the bridge of his nose. “Oin says I won’t be so pretty anymore. Guess I’ve got a couple more days of this before I can go primp in a mirror. Itches like I’ve got ants under it.”

No one had told Dwalin about his eyes yet. No one had had the heart to. The news that he was blind now was too hard a reality to face so soon after waking and Oin had informed them all that they weren’t to say a word on the subject until he’d deemed Dwalin fit enough to handle it. It hurt to do so, but Thorin managed to keep his tone light and untroubled. It was the least he could do for his best friend.

“That’s because Kili has been sticking ants up under there while you sleep. I think it might be revenge for how much you snore.”

“Hate t’ say it Thorin, but I’m goin’ t’ make a rug out of your nephew. Where’d those two get off to anyway? They scatted out early and I haven’t heard a peep since.”

“I don’t know, I’ve been stuck in Dain’s meeting. They’ll come back eventually.” With Fili’s leg and Kili’s healing burns they couldn’t go too far or get in too much trouble. That was a small blessing.

“And uh, and Nori?” Dwalin asked casually. Too casually. “You heard anythin’ from him yet?”

Thorin closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch Dwalin’s shoulders slump like he knew they would. “No. No one has seen him.”

“Oh. Right.”

After that there wasn’t much left to talk about.

Night fell outside. Balin returned and eventually Fili and Kili stumbled back as well, dusted with snow and smiling, though Thorin could see that they were both tired from their adventure. Fili had found a stick to lean on and the brace Oin had strapped to his leg kept it straight and stiff. With Kili’s help they’d been able to hobble along like a pony with three legs between them and had managed to make pests out of themselves bothering the Boar Master. They entertained everyone with stories about the boars and what the rest of the camp was doing and for a little while things seemed a little bit lighter.

Balin fell asleep first and Dwalin shortly after. Neither of them was as young and resilient as Fili and Kili, though the princes didn’t last much longer than them. Soon it was only Thorin left awake, with a lantern burning low next to his bedroll and the tent filled with the sound of snoring. It was warm and safe here and he should have been able to sleep as easily as the others, but there was something keeping him awake - a nervous energy that he couldn’t seem to rid himself of.

It wasn’t right. He didn’t want to sleep like this, alone without the comfort of a warm body pressed to his back. Somehow he had grown used to having Bilbo sleeping with him without even realizing it and now he missed it enough to keep him wakeful.

 _He can’t be. He_ can’t _._

Thorin didn’t want to think about it but somehow he couldn’t stop himself. That lonely little rock on the mountainside couldn’t be real. It was just a stone, not a –

He stood, shedding the blanket that he had laid across his legs. No one woke as he pulled on his boot and greatcoat and for that he was grateful. Orcrist was strapped to his belt as he stepped out of the tent and into the snow.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Asked a soft voice from the darkness and Thorin whirled around, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. He released it just as quickly. Nori stood there, in the dark at the corner of their tent. He had a pipe tucked into the corner of his mouth and the low-burning tobacco in its bowl illuminated the thief’s lined face.

“Out,” Thorin said. “Where have you been?”

“Out. Keepin’ an eye on things.”

“This is a safe camp. Why would you need to be anywhere but here? The battle is over.” He noticed that Nori kept both of his hands hidden in the pockets of the dark coat that he’d probably pillaged from somewhere. “Dwalin was asking about you.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Don’t you care that he nearly died?”

Nori’s eyes narrowed. “More than you, looks like. Why haven’t you told ‘im that he’s blind? You think he’ll want t’ live like that? Knowin’ he’s useless?”

“He won’t be useless.”

“Then you’re lyin’ t’ yerself too. Would’ve been kinder t’ tell ‘im the second he woke and given ‘im th’ Soldier’s Choice. And here I was thinkin’ that you were th’ right kind of king, th’ kind who cared about his folk.”

“So we’re all doomed to disappointment. You should let Oin see your hands before you run away again. At least then he’ll stop worrying about you and be able to concentrate on better dwarves.”

“Oh aye, I’m sure they’re all better than me. But I don’t need his healer hands.” He pulled one of his hands out of his pocket and showed Thorin his heavily bandaged and mostly straight fingers. “Not th’ first time I’ve had t’ set ‘em myself. Probably won’t be th’ last either. You goin’ t’ th’ mountain?”  

“I don’t – “

“Don’t you lie t’ me. To yerself sure. T’ Dwalin? Fine, you seem t’ think it best. But don’t you lie t’ me because I’ll know it.” Nori glanced off towards the gaping maw that lead into Erebor. It wasn’t blocked off anymore but stood opening like a wound. “Dain’s got two guards set on it. I’ll draw ‘em off and you do what you need to. Smaug hasn’t got us yet and the lot of us walked all over his head for a good long while. I figure he won’t be too bothered by you goin’ in t’ have a look-round.”

He was gone before Thorin could reply, swallowed up by the shadows.

Whatever Nori’s thoughts were on how fit a king Thorin was, he was a dwarrow of his word. By the time Thorin made it through to snow to the mountain’s entrance, Dain’s guards were nowhere to be seen. There were two sets of boot tracks leading back towards the camp, so it was only a matter of time before they returned and discovered Thorin’s own tracks leading into the mountain.

The inside of Erebor was a disaster. Stone and tile had been crushed by Smaug’s claws and even more boulders littered the floor from his destruction of the sealed entrance. There was blood on the floor and what looked like the mangled corpses of a couple of goblins. The cold had frozen them solid, so there was no stink of decay to accompany them. Thorin needed no lantern to find his way around them; his vision in the dark was good enough that he could avoid the worst of the damage.

Had Bilbo needed to watch his steps so carefully when he accompanied the dragon to the battle?

_No. No, don’t think about it. Don’t think about him._

He’d come this far. Now he had to see the rest.

The sound started faintly and grew the further he walked down the hall. It was a low rumbling, like half-broken machinery and bellows. It clicked and grumbled and made the very air vibrate. The deep breaths of a dragon.

Thorin didn’t realize that it wasn’t cold any more until he felt the first drop of sweat trickle down his temple.

“ _Oakenshield_ ,” a voice sneered and he froze in his tracks. “Come to look at your spoils?”

There he was.

Smaug had draped himself at the far end of the entrance hall. Half of his body snaked down the side passage that lead to the treasure chamber and Thorin knew that he was so large that his tail and hind legs were probably still buried in gold even though his front was in another part of the kingdom entirely. His hands began to tremble, so he balled them into fists. The dragon’s eyes were half-opened and watched him with sadistic amusement. His spined head rested on his front claws and his wings were flared to the sides, blocking any exit out of the main hall, including the one that Thorin had intended to take.

Rather than give in to Smaug’s baiting, he remained silent. He would not be a fool and argue with his foe, that was not why he’d come.

“No?” Sparks drifted from Smaug’s nostrils. “Then perhaps to tell me that I am not welcomed here and that you plan to turn your pathetic little army against me? Not that either?” The dragon’s thick slimy tongue snaked out as he licked his long teeth. “Where is the Summer Creature? I thought that he would visit me now that I have driven those scavengers from my mountain.”

They stared at each other across the empty space.

Smaug’s wings tucked in a little bit tighter to his sides. “Aaah,” the dragon sighed. “So he is dead. This is…regrettable.” Scales screeched against stone as the dragon turned and Thorin watched in incredulity as Smaug slithered down the passage to the treasure chamber and disappeared, leaving him standing in the now-empty hall.

Apprehension made his footsteps swift as he charged down the passage towards the royal chambers. He would be there. He had to be there. He would be angry and probably throw things, but Thorin would have happily let him throw anything just to hear his voice again, even if it was shouting at him. All of this fighting and pain and madness couldn’t have ended with this – fate couldn’t be so cruel.

His hands were shaking so badly that he nearly dropped the door key as he shoved it into the lock and pushed the door open with his shoulder.

“Bilbo? _Ghivashel_?”

 The room was cold and dark. Glass cracked under his boots as he slowly stepped inside. A shattered inkwell.

“Bilbo, I’m back. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry; I never wanted to hurt you. I don’t care about Smaug now. I know that you were trying to help us! _Ghivashel_ , please come out, _please!”_

Nothing. The room was in chaos. The sheets had been ripped from the bed. The mattress was crooked. Every drawer had been ripped from the desk and cabinets and their contents dumped onto the floor.

“No no no, Bilbo! I’m sorry!”

A dark hole stood open in one of the mural-covered walls. The servant’s passage. Even locked inside a room with no windows and a locked door, Bilbo had found a way to escape. Thorin made it to the bedside before his legs went and he had to sit down.

“You aren’t here, are you? You were supposed to be – I left you here and - and you never do as you’re told – _oh_ …”  

Something gleamed underneath one of the pillows and his hand closed around it. The emerald’s corners dug into his palm. The gold was freezing cold and clearly hadn’t been worn recently. Its owner’s body heat had long since faded away.

It was more than a stone. It was the marker that showed where his greatest treasure was now buried. Thorin clasped the Consort’s Ring between both of his hands and finally let the monster behind the fog in to destroy his heart.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be the first part of four in an extremely long chapter, but I was convinced to post it as four separate parts since ya'll are being so wonderfully patient with me. Extra work hours, visiting family, and a leaky roof in an old house are making it kind of difficult to find any time for writing, but I'm doing my best. The next part of 'Crystal Flowers' shouldn't take as long as this one did and you guys get a couple extra posts since I'm breaking it up. Cheers!
> 
> Also Smaug is annoyed because his 'Proud Daddy' club is back down to one member.


	62. Crystal Flowers - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Emotional Pain, Hurt and Comfort

_Dis,_

_I am sending three copies of this letter to you via three ravens since we have been trapped inside Erebor for several days by snow storms and I can’t be sure one or any of them will make it through. Please feed them and send them back with your reply as soon as they are able._

_You will be glad to know that both of your sons have survived the journey to the mountain and the battle that followed, perhaps less that I have managed to do so as well. Fili’s leg is badly damaged but he is able to walk with the aid of a crutch. He spends most of his days following in Kili’s wake to make sure that your youngest does not fall down an open mine shaft. Kili was burned during the battle but refuses to be confined to his bed. He takes after you in that regard._

_Things did not go entirely as I planned, Dis. I’m sure that you will argue that I did not plan at all and looking back, you would be right. This entire venture should not have succeeded and even though we have taken up residence inside Erebor, I cannot say that we have reclaimed it. I will tell you of that shortly._

_I will not try to deceive you since I’m certain that your sons will tell you the entire story with all of the unpleasant details. The journey was not an easy one and every path we took seemed determined to be both difficult and dangerous. Thinking back on it all, I am surprised that my company made it beyond the Misty Mountains with both our lives and limbs intact. We were pursued by orcs for much of the journey, led by Azog. If you are surprised, Sister, you cannot be more than I was. The Pale Orc caught us in Mirkwood when we were lost and hungry and savaged the hobbit that Gandalf found for me to be my burglar. It felt like fate itself was fighting against our arrival at Erebor._

_We did eventually make it though and it was not as I remembered it. Perhaps I had deluded myself into thinking that everything would somehow be how it was when we were there last. You were too young to properly remember how bright and warm it was. The Erebor I found was cold and stank of smoke and gold, which I have come to despise. The entire mountainside was black and Dale is like a skeleton lying next to the main road._

_Knowing that Azog pursued us, I sent word to Dain to bring fighters and supplies and settled in to wait._

_I learned over the days that followed that I have more of our grandfather in me than I would happily claim._

_The madness is terrible, Dis. I can still feel it following at my heels now, though I haven’t put a foot into the treasure chamber since the battle. It took a tragedy to shake me this far free of it and I write to urge you to travel here to join me with all haste. I know that the winter is a cruel one and will make for slow going, but you’ve always been the voice of reason and the bedrock for this family. Your sons miss you. I miss you. I cannot do this without you._

_When you do come, please bring as many scribes and mathematicians as will sign on with you. Dain’s fighters remain in residence so we are safe enough to protect the mountain without too many additional swords._

_However, Smaug remains in residence._

_Without my knowledge, the hobbit that I wrote of made a deal with him to allow us entry and the dragon did us a service during the battle, but now he won’t allow us to move or spend a single coin of the treasure without a proper ledger of expenses and interest owed to him. Balin is enjoying the challenge, but the job is much too large for just him and it taxes him._

_I’m certain that you have many questions, but unless they are vitally urgent I hope that you will be able to save them for when you arrive. Time is not on our side._

_I await your reply,_

_Thorin_

 

**3 weeks later**

 

_Thorin,_

_By the time you receive this letter I expect to have departed from Ered Luin with a caravan of one hundred and an armed escort of another twenty of my most trusted guards. We have also employed the services of two rangers to ensure that we arrive swiftly and safely, though both expressed doubts at our need to travel with such a large party in midwinter._

_I will not waste ink or time berating you for the damage done to my sons – that honor is best served out in person. Your letter left out more than it told me, but I am traveling east nonetheless. You should prepare for our arrival in three months’ time, four if the weather slows us down too much. Many in my caravan have voiced misgivings about Smaug still living in the mountain, but since he hasn’t eaten you yet I have assured them of their safety. Don’t prove me wrong._

_When I arrive I will expect a full account of your journey. I also look forward to meeting the hobbit who bargained with a dragon. Don’t think that I missed that ‘my burglar’ line._

_Be safe, Brother. Don’t let my sons crack their skulls open before I arrive to do it for them._

_Dis_

__________________________________

Thorin carefully folded the letter and tucked it into the inside breast pocket of his cloak. It nestled in next to the Consort’s Ring there, where he kept it next to his heart. If Dis truly was looking forward to meeting Bilbo Baggins, she would be sorely disappointed. The ring was all Thorin had left of him beyond what had been left in his little pack and the king hoarded those things more than any treasure.

The smell of Bilbo’s hair had faded from his pillow more than a week ago and that night Thorin had clutched it desperately, feeling as though he had lost him all over again. As long as that fragile scent had remained he’d been able to pretend that Bilbo had simply slipped out of bed for a moment and would soon return to cuddle up behind Thorin, making sleepy, content noises.

He never came back though. His pillow smelled only of cool fabric and feathers and Thorin lost another piece of his heart and walked a little slower the next morning.

 If fate was kind, these next three months would go by quickly. Dis had been closer to Frerin than to him while they were growing up, but their brother’s death had forced them to band together or else succumb to despair in the wake of tragedy. Dis had been the flame that sparked the two of them into action every morning and Thorin had been the evening stone to lean on when the darkness closed in. Right now he needed that flame and he prayed that Dis could burn bright enough to chase away the shadows again. His heart could not be salvaged, this much he knew, but there might still be hope for his mind and spirit.

To come so far and still be so lost…

The raven perched on the low wall of the aviary next to him fluffed her feathers and croaked politely.

“The flight went well?” He asked her, realizing that he’d been rude by not acknowledging the bird sooner. She and he wing-mates had flown a long way through terrible weather and none of them deserved to be ignored upon their homecoming.

“Long. Cold. Ered Luin has no roosts. We stayed in the kitchens. Cook gave us first bites.”

“Our fare is not as fine here since we’re living on field rations, but you and your companions will be well fed for your hard work.”

“Bracelets,” the raven squawked and the other two hopped closer. They’d had copies of Dis’ message tied to their legs as well until Thorin retrieved them.

“What?”

“My sire’s sire, Kraak, had bracelet. For word-carrying. We want word bracelets too.”

“Message cases,” Thorin realized. Certain raves had been chosen as permanent messengers before Erebor fell. They could remember private words and relay them and had been recognizable by the silver bracelets they wore, which a piece of parchment could be coiled inside of to protect it from the elements. All of the original messenger ravens were long dead, but their offspring remembered the old ways.

“Bracelets will be found for you and any others interested in having them,” he assured the three ravens.

“We will send chicks,” one of the big males said. “For word-learning. Better speak for word messages.”

“Of course. I know several dwarrows who would be happy to school them in oral messaging.” It was another small step towards returning Erebor to her former glory. Ravens had often been employed inside the mountain to carry word from the council or the front gates when haste was required and now they would be useful for relaying orders. Thorin remembered that Thror had had a personal bird whose bracelet was engraved with the royal seal. The raven’s word had been Thror’s and he had carried no letters but those directly from the king.

“What is your name?” Thorin asked the she-raven who had originally asked him for the bracelets.

“Shriek, chick of Shrike,” she said and puffed herself up importantly.

“Shriek, you’re my personal messenger now. I’ll find you a bracelet and have my seal put on it. You two,” he told the males. “Report to Dain and Balin. They’re to use you until we can set up a Runner’s Guild.”

Both birds immediately took flight and Thorin was left standing in the aviary with Shriek. The snow had stopped for the moment, but it was still nearly two feet deep everywhere and the heavy gray clouds promised more to come. The remainder of Dain’s boars had been put to work pulling heavy sleds and sheets of metal behind them to keep the road cleared. He could see them down below; moving like miniature mountains up and down the path with their riders bundled up in leathers and thick furs to protect them from the fierce wind.

Winter was the worst time to make the journey to Erebor, but Dis was smart. The bandits and wolves would be hungry, but even they weren’t stupid enough to pick on a well-armed caravan. Every dwarrow worth their metal knew how to wield some sort of weapon, so a force of one hundred and twenty would have little trouble forcing their way east. By the time they arrived the snow would have lessened and make the travel easier.

“I need to send word to Thranduil,” he grumbled. “Tell him about the caravan so that he won’t waylay them as he did us.” Shriek bobbed agreeably and stuck out her leg. “Not yet. I’ll find you a case and you need to eat before you start again.” He wondered what price Thranduil would ask in return for resupplying Dis and the Ered Luin dwarrows. They still hadn’t managed to bargain his promised portion of the treasure away from Smaug and Thranduil had grown impatient and returned to the Woodland Realm to oversee his kingdom. He had left his Captain of the Guard and several of his healers behind to look after those elves still too wounded to travel, but Thorin knew that the Captain was really there to make sure that they didn’t default on their agreement. She spent most of her time lurking about in the halls, watching the goings-on with a half-smile on her face that irritated Thorin to no end.

Bard on the other hand had been more agreeable when he departed to return to Lake-Town.

“The Halfling said he’d deal with the dragon when we made our bargain, and it seems to me that he did in an unexpected way. You’ve got the best treasure guard in Middle Earth. Now it’s just a matter of learning to live with him. Send me word when you do and we’ll be by to collect.”

Thorin had had to bite his tongue to keep from saying that Bilbo hadn’t been half-anything.

The men had come to help when asked and Thorin wouldn’t darken their fragile new alliance by refusing to pay them what they’d been promised, even if he hadn’t approved the bargain when it had originally been struck. He wouldn’t begin his reign with another war.

“Let me fetch some parchment and –“ He started, but was interrupted when one of the ravens he’d sent away came fluttering up next to Shriek. They cawed and pushed at each other for space before Shriek begrudgingly gave way.

“Message, King!”

“Report.”

The raven drew himself up smartly. “Thorin!” It croaked. “Where’d you get this bloody bird? Get down here, your damn lizard is makin’ a fuss. It’s a damn zoo around here…”

It even managed to imitate Dain’s put-upon growl.

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose to try to stave off the inevitable headache that appeared whenever he although whenever he had to be near Smaug or deal with him in any way. If he could have, he would have washed his hands of the dragon entirely and left it all up to Dain, but as his cousin was fond of reminding him it was _his_ mountain and thus _his_ responsibility to have a hand when it came to figuring out how to work with Smaug.

That proved to be difficult when there wasn’t a single part of him that had forgiven Smaug for the atrocities he had committed against Erebor and its people. Every interaction he had with Smaug left Thorin seeking out somewhere cool and dark to sit quietly until the pounding in his head had subsided. Dain had tried to reason with him, no more than Thorin had tried to reason with himself, but no matter how compelling the argument was he remained enraged by the dragon’s continued presence.

He was a good guard, as Bard had pointed out. Not a single coin could do missing without him knowing about it. He was a deterrent to any potential enemies who thought that the weakened mountain was an easy target. None of it matter to Thorin. Smaug’s flames had been the catalyst that had plunged the line of Durin into centuries of hardship, tragedy, and death and Thorin knew that he would never be able to parlay with him civilly.  

“Go to the kitchens, tell whoever is there that I ordered them to feed you. Then come and find me once you’ve had your fill.” He had a feeling that it was going to be an excruciatingly long day and that he’d be using the services of the new messenger birds more than once over the course of it. The two ravens rolled off the side of the balcony and were instantly gone, the growling in their bellies no doubt giving speed to their flight. Thorin wished that he could escape half so easily, but Dain was expecting him now and he was bound by the shackles of duty to make an appearance even if it turned out that he couldn’t help with whatever trouble his cousin was having.

His heavy blue cloak trailed down the stairs behind him as he descended from the aviary. The stairs up and down were still perilous to use thanks to the damaged stone and missing steps, but until the elaborate system of lifts in the walls could be repaired, they were the only way to reach the raven’s roost. The chains and mechanisms all over Erebor would need a thorough going-over by repairmen before they were useable. They’d had centuries to rust and fall into disrepair and were even less safe than the stairs. Only the week before one of them had fallen when the chain snapped and dropped a load of supplies down onto one of Dain’s hapless soldier’s. Luckily the dwarrow had only suffered from a broken arm, but it could have been far worse and both Thorin and Dain had decided that until every lift could be deemed completely safe, only the stairs would be used by anyone.

By the time he reached the bottom, Dain was standing there waiting for him.

“Took you sweet time, didn’t you?”

“I’d like to see you make it down that quickly,” Thorin said irritably. At least he wasn’t out of breath – that would have given Dain something else to poke at him about.

“I couldn’t, that’s why I don’t go up to mope about with those birds at all. Now come on, we’ve got things to do other than starin’ off into the distance. Seems to be all you’re good for most mornings.”

“If I didn’t think that we were in a hurry, I would show you exactly what I’m good for. Starting with my swordplay.”

“You don’t bring a sword to an axe fight, Cousin. You know that as well as I.”

They didn’t quite hurry down the long halls, but neither did they dawdle. There was too much to be done to walk leisurely. “I received word from Dis this morning,” Thorin said as they went.

“Oh is that why you were lurkin’ about on high? We all thought you were surveyin’ your domain. What’s your lovely sister have to say about this disaster?”

“That she’s on her way and to expect her in three months with a band of one hundred and twenty with her.”

“Lot more mouths to feed,” Dain grumbled, rubbing his leg as they walked. “Well, I’ll send out letters to the right folk and we’ll see them taken care of. Maybe by then we’ll have wrested a coin or two out from under Smaug’s belly. Balin’s meeting us in the main hall. I don’t think he’s put down his accounting book since we decided we needed it. Old fool spouts off sums in his sleep, I’m sure of it.”

“It needs to be done by someone and he can’t help with any of the heavy lifting until his leg – “

“I know, Thorin.” Dain slowed enough that he could take hold of Thorin’s elbow. The dwarrow’s mottled gray and black hair was peppered through with white, making him seem older than Thorin despite the fact that he was twenty one years his junior. “I know. Balin does a job that few would be willing to do and he does it happily. I was baiting you. Will nothing lighten your heart lately?”

Thorin could feel the Consort’s Ring resting in his breast pocket. The one thing that would lighten his heart was now beyond his grasp and knowing that he still had long years of regret yet to live without him weighed on the king like nothing else. “Dis is coming.”

“Aye, but I don’t think it’s Dis’ absence that’s been makin’ you drag your feet so. We _will_ talk about this, Thorin. Once we’ve settled this trouble with the dragon and have a moment to breathe. Don’t think that folk haven’t been worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Thorin insisted as they strode into the main hall. It was abuzz with activity – dozens of dwarrows working to clear away rock and shore up the gaping hole where the gates had once stood. “All I took was a knock to the head, Dain.”

“I’m not talkin’ about your head, you clod. Maybe another blow will help to rattle some sense out of it.”

“I think I would rather rip my own – “

“There you are!” Balin said as they came up. He was settled on a three-legged stool out of the way of the workers and had a thick blanket wrapped around his legs. On top of that a massive tome lay open, its pages beginning to yellow but still covered with fresh ink. The ink pot sat next to Balin’s stool with a simple white quill in it, provided by Dain since every one left in Erebor had either turned to dust or was too fragile to function. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d taken a wrong turn.”

“My sense of direction is fine below the ground, Balin.”

“I never said it was anything but,” the old dwarrow said mildly. “You simply took longer than I was expecting. Now would one of you lads take this,” he gestured to his book, “and the other help me up and we’ll go settle this problem.”

“Been a long time since I was called ‘lad’,” Dain chuckled as he hefted Balin’s accounting book.

“Get used to it,” Thorin advised. “When I passed one hundred and fifty I had to accept that he was never going to stop, even if I lived to be three hundred.”

“By the time you’re three hundred I’ll be resting in my tomb. Now give me a hand before we all die of old age.” Balin folded his lap blanket and gestured Thorin over to help him to his feet. A wooden leg had been fashioned for him and it was strapped to his knee. It was crude and inelegant, but Balin didn’t seem to care as long as he could hobble from one place to the other without too much help. Getting up was still difficult though because of the crutch’s tendency to slide on the marble floors, so Thorin grasped Balin’s arm at his elbow and helped pull him upright and steady him.

“How’s Dwalin?” He asked quietly as Balin straightened his crimson robes. Dain tactfully went ahead with the book so that he wouldn’t intrude on their private conversation.

“Still won’t see you,” Balin said, his face growing sad. “I’ve broached the subject with him several times and each time his insults get more creative.”

Thorin bowed his head. “I deserve them all. I should have been the one to tell him – I was a coward and I gave him false hope.”

“Aye, that’s what he says as well. Seems to think that you should have told him that he’d lost his sight the moment he woke so he could do something about it then, rather than waiting for so long. Not that I think he would have done anything, but he doesn’t like being helpless, Thorin.”

“He isn’t helpless. Even without his eyes he’s better than twelve of Dain’s soldiers put together.”

“You know that and I know that, but do you think he listens to me when I say so? He’s destroyed most everything in his room and has started locking the door to even me. I don’t know what he’s done with his axes. Right now he’s a bear who thinks his teeth have been pulled out and I don’t know how to get him to listen. The both of you are harder to talk to than cold stone.”

“If I thought he would speak to me, I would go and – “

“Save it. I don’t know what’s to be done about him now, but leaving him to stew in his own bitterness isn’t the answer. Now let’s be off and see what trouble Dain has been having with Smaug. Even that should be easier than dealing with my fool of a brother.”

Together they made their way down the long passages towards the treasure chamber where Smaug resided. He hadn’t emerged from it since they had moved in three weeks ago, for which everyone was obscenely grateful. Having a dragon running amok through the mountain was an issue no one had the time or the willpower to deal with when there was so much else still to do.

It didn’t take long for them to be greeted by the sound of shouting and the cause of it became quickly apparent.

The entrance to the treasure chamber had been blocked by a wall of red and gold scales that filled it from the top to the bottom. Dain was standing in front of this blockade with one of his fists raised, shouting an alarming combination of insults and threats at Smaug, though none of them seemed to be at all effective because the room remain shut to them.

“I assume this is the fuss you were talking about, Dain?” Thorin asked, keeping his voice purposefully mild as he came up with Balin.

“It’s like you’re asking me to hit you in the mouth sometimes, I swear it. Your mouth moves but all I hear is ‘Dain, put your fist through my teeth’. Anyway, he’s been doin’ this for going on six hours now and won’t budge and we need to get in there because we need to get at the iron ingots for repairing our plows. Fat bastard is sulkin’ about something and I don’t have the time to coddle him. Thorin, see if you can get a wedge and we’ll just pry his fat arse out of the way.”

“I heard that.” Came Smaug’s voice from somewhere inside the treasure chamber. Thorin was close enough to his scales that he could see the stamped golden coins that lined the undersides of every one of the dragon’s flexible scales. If someone took a rag to a couple of them they could almost be used as mirrors. Of course, the acrid stink of dragon was bad enough that he doubted anyone would want to.

“Good, you were meant to! Now get out of the damn way so we can keep working.”

“I see that diplomacy runs in the family,” Balin sighed.

“There are other ways into the chamber –“ Thorin started but Dain waved him off.

“He’s got them all covered. The bugger has draped himself all over the inside of the chamber so that no one can get in and _HE’S BEING DAMN INCONVENIENT!_ ” He shouted at the wall of dragon.

The horrible sound of scales scraping across stone made them all clap their hands over their ears as Smaug shifted his bulk. A moment later his enormous head was filling the door instead of his shoulder and Thorin internally recoiled from the sight of him. He was like a private nightmare brought to life and made twice as large as anything his darkest dreams could conjure up.

“I’ll be _inconvenient_ as long as my demands are not met. You are all here by my mercy only and you’ve repaid me by being loud, smelly, and complaining at all hours.” The dragon’s tongue slid across his sharp fangs as if he was imagining how they would taste as he swallowed them.

Dain remained unimpressed. “We agreed to set a curfew so that you could have your beauty sleep. No construction has been done after sunset for two weeks now, though it’s costing us precious work time. So why are you barring us from reaching our materials now when you’ve already cut our construction hours in half?”

Smaug’s eyes slid away from Dain and fixed on Thorin and Balin instead. “Oakenshield,” he laughed and Thorin saw a couple of sparks float out of his cavernous throat. “You look so pleased to be a slave to my beck and call. I would comment on how the mighty have fallen, but you have never truly been mighty, have you?”

“Don’t let him bait you,” Balin murmured.

“What do you want, Smaug?” Thorin asked through gritted teeth.

“Oh, the list goes on and on!” The dragon lifted his head up and shifted forward so that he could rest his breast on his wing claws. He couldn’t fit through the treasure chamber entrance standing up, but crouched as he was he could have slithered through easily enough. “Ten thousand fat cows to feast on, a dozen villages to terrorize with my flames, and you dwarves out of my mountain. But I owe a debt and letting you in was part of it.”

“Might you have a more manageable request?” Balin called up to him.

“I want a statue.”

“What?”

“The little thing promised me a statue made of gold in my likeness,” Smaug said loftily. “It would be a grand addition to these small little tunnels.”

“If you think that we’re going to take the time to – “ Thorin growled, but Balin smacked him in the stomach with an open hand to silence him.

“Building a statue of such magnificence would take many people and resources to construct,” Balin said. “And though we all agree that it would be truly amazing to have it gracing our halls, we have not reached an agreement that would allow us to remove that amount of gold from your chamber nor do we have the time allowed to put the necessary hours into its construction with our curfew.”

Smaug growled irritably. “So remove the curfew and call in more of your little dirt-grubbing kind. I will have the statue promised me and I will pose for it so that no detail is left out.”

“And the gold?”

He growled again, but this time it sounded more sullen than angry. “Take what you will for it. I won’t count it against your debt because it won’t be leaving the mountain.”

“So you agree that we can move forward in our meetings for the use and distribution of the treasure, O Smaug?” Balin looked like he was trying not to smile. “Since you cannot mine or craft for yourself, once more dwarrows from the Iron Hills and Ered Luin arrive we can begin to mine again and then provide you with fresh treasure for your hoard to replace that which will be removed to pay for repairs to the mountain and the time of the crafters who will be making the statue in your honor.” 

“I still want an account of it all. I won’t have my gold depleted because of the greed of dwarves.”

“Completely understandable,” Balin said. “I have my ledger with me here and if you will admit me entrance we can assess what you would be willing to part with to pay off some small debts. All of it will be replaced of course, but once this matter is settled we can begin the construction of – “ Balin continued to talk as he limped past Smaug’s claws and into the treasure chamber, followed by Dain with the ledger still cradled in his arms. Both Smaug and Thorin watched them go, and after a moment Smaug ducked his head and disappeared into the room to follow after the two dwarrows. Thorin could hear him talking to Balin, debating about the placement of the statue and whether or not the interior would need steel supports to keep it from collapsing in on itself.

Thorin stayed where he was, dazed.

“I feel like I was just run over,” somebody said from behind him and Kili stepped up on his right side. “And I wasn’t even part of the conversation.”

His nephew had artfully parted his hair so that it concealed the left side of his face and the scarred part of his scalp where his dark hair would never grow back. The burn was still angry and dark crimson and spiderwebbed across the side of his face and most of his left side. His ear was deformed now as well, but Dori had been teaching him how to braid his messy hair so that it would cover it.

“Where’s your brother?” Thorin asked him.

“Talking to someone over somewhere,” Kili answered vaguely. “So we’re building a statue of Smaug now?”

“If you ask Balin we are.” Thorin groaned and speared his fingers through his hair, wishing that he hadn’t had to be around to be a part of the whole issue. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words and half of them had nearly been the wrong ones. Balin was better at being a diplomat than he was, and Dain was willing to do what needed to be done for things to move forward even if it meant working around a dragon. Thorin got hung up on both of those things and it was starting to make him feel like his insides were being pulled out with a meat hook. Damn uncomfortable. “We’ll need to get the furnaces rekindled and build channels away from the mold of Thror in the Hall of Kings and into the entry hall.”

It was an undertaking that would take years to complete, even once all of the dwarves in Erebor returned and could dedicate their time and energy to the project. Luckily the gold veins ran rich underneath the mountain and it wouldn’t put too much of a strain on their guarded coffers, but it was an expense that made Thorin cringe nonetheless. Not only would a statue of Smaug now be the first thing that visitors saw when they entered Erebor, but he has the real thing still sharing the mountain with him. It was a disgrace that he did not bear happily and he wondered to himself what his father and grandfather would have said had they been there to see what had come about. Nothing flattering, he guessed. 

“I had a letter from your mother. She’s coming with a caravan and should arrive in three months.”

“ _Amad_ is coming?”

“Yes, I asked her to.”

“And you didn’t _tell_ us that you asked her to come?!” Kili yelped. “She’s going to skin us all and make us into rugs! I have to go tell Fili…” Thorin was left alone again as Kili shuffled off to find his brother.  

“What is she going to skin _you_ for?” He called after his nephew, but there was no reply. The work around him continued. Boars came in, their hides steaming in the cold air and the plows behind them icy. The sound of hammering picked back up again and the low chatter of voices once more filled the halls. Thorin stood in the middle of it like a boulder in a river, alone.

_You should do something. Anything is better than standing here and wondering what’s become of your life and the dreams you used to have._

So he moved his feet without having any idea of where they were taking him. There was nothing to be done in the aviary right now – Shriek and the other birds would be in the kitchens. His rooms were too empty and going there felt too much like hiding from his responsibilities.

 _You aren’t a blacksmith anymore, Thorin Oakenshield. That was easier, people only expected you to fix their weapons and pots rather than their lives. You better start acting like a king if you want to be one._  

And good kings didn’t let their people suffer.

He caught the first dwarrow who passed by him. “Find me Nori,” he said. The entire mountain knew about the company that had taken back Erebor, so there wouldn’t be any confusion about who he was asking for.

Five minutes later the thief slid up behind him. Both of his hands were covered in black gloves and he kept his left one tucked into the pocket of his coat. “M’ not used to bein’ summoned by royals. More like judges.” He said. “So official-like.”

“I’d get used to it if I were you,” Thorin said. “I need you to pick a lock for me.”

Nori’s smile was sharp. “I know the very one.”

__________________________________

“If I’d known you’d decided to live in a sty I might have brought a slop bucket.”

Dwalin’s chambers were expansive and boasted their own small kitchen and a bathing chamber large enough to have a small party in. They were also dark as pitch and smelled like everything in them had been soaked in liquor. The fumes alone were enough to make Thorin feel a bit lightheaded. The entire place was one dropped match away from being a bonfire.

“Thought I locked that door…” Came the slurred reply from one of the corners and Thorin squinted into the darkness. There was a shadowy shape sitting on the floor with its back to the wall next to the ruins of what had once been an ornately carved cabinet. The door had been ripped off and the whole thing had been toppled onto its face and its contents strewn across the floor with the wreckage of the rest of the furniture. There wasn’t a single piece that was whole. Legs had been pulled off of the tables and chairs, everything glass or crystal had been smashed, and there were shards of a mirror scattered across the tatters of the rug.

“You did. I had someone unlock it for me.”

“Damn,” Dwalin hiccupped and scrubbed his filthy sleeve across his mouth. “Damn thief. Needs t’ mind his own damn business…”

“He’ll mind when I make it my business too.” Thorin stepped over a table and the shredded remains of a tapestry until he was standing in front of his friend.

Dwalin looked as bad as the room did.

The warrior had lost weight. It was evident in his hollow cheeks and the hollows of his collarbones. Thorin could seem them where Dwalin’s tunic sagged open at the neck, revealing the angry red edges of the slash he’d received during the battle. It was nothing compared to the one on his face. Oin had removed the bandages a week earlier and only then had they been forced to admit to Dwalin that he would never see again. They had left him hoping for two weeks, griping and complaining about tripping over things and desperate for the day when he would finally be able to see again. When the bandages finally came off they’d revealed a twisted red wound that trailed from the top of Dwalin’s mangled ear, across his face and over both of his eyes, and down the side of his other cheek. Had it been any deeper, Oin would have had to remove his eyes entirely. As it was, they were milky with damaged tissue and no color remained in them.

Thorin couldn’t see them now as he crouched in front of his best friend. Dwalin had his eyes shut. It made little difference whether they were open or closed now, the view was the same.

“You need to mind yer own business too,” Dwalin grunted. He patted the floor next to him until he found a half-full bottle and took a deep swallow of the contents. “And not come in where ye aren’t wanted.”

“I’m the king now, remember? I can go wherever I want.”

“Well now you’ve been here and seen it! Better than I can fuckin’ do!” He slashed at Thorin with the bottle in his hand and missed by two feet. “Lock th’ door behind ye, I don’t need any more fuckin’ kings wanderin’ in.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thorin said as he sat down on a glass-free part of the floor.

“We aren’t doin’ this. We aren’t talkin’ like we’re mates again. Get out.”

“Make me.”

“You didn’t just say that.”

“I think I just did.” Thorin settled his elbows on his knees and leaned in closer. “Make. Me.”

Dwalin lunged at him with a roar, splashing them both with the liquor in the bottle. He caught Thorin around his neck with one thick arm and slammed him backwards into the tabletop, knocking the wind right out of him. As the king gasped for breath, Dwalin drew back one calloused fist and brought it swinging down into his belly. The next blow Thorin managed to roll out of the way of, and that was lucky because it was powerful enough that it split the tabletop in half with a loud _crack_.

“You bastard, I’ll make you! Get over here and fight me!”

“I don’t fight starving dogs!” Thorin said as he rolled to his feet and delivered a kick to Dwalin’s exposed side.

“I’ll give you a fuckin’ starving dog!” Dwalin’s feet got tangled in the tapestry as he tried to stand, so he improvised and hurled a shattered half of a vase at Thorin. It missed him by inches and exploded against the far wall.

“Then what are you?” Thorin shouted at him. “Because you look feral from where I’m standing!”  

“So I’ll knock you over!” The tapestry was kicked away and Dwalin rushed him again. This time he didn’t miss and Thorin went down hard with Dwalin’s weight crushing him to the floor. Something under him broke. “Look any better from here?!”

“No, you’re still as ugly as a troll’s arse,” Thorin wheezed.

The anger and tension slowly drained from Dwalin’s shoulders and the fist he’d been about to introduce to Thorin’s windpipe lowered. “Still prettier than you,” he finally said. “Damn it all Thorin, why didn’t ye tell me? Why’d you leave me t’ live like this?” There was a heartbreaking weakness in his voice.

“Because I couldn’t lose you too,” Thorin said honestly. “I couldn’t. I was selfish and a coward, but Dwalin, Bilbo’s gone and I can’t – _you’re my best friend._ I didn’t want to give you the choice and risk you taking it and leaving me too.” His belly ached from Dwalin’s punch and he was pretty sure there was something jagged sticking out of his back now, but he didn’t care. He’d put this off for too long.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Dwalin growled down at him.

“You’re the only one who will tell me so, other than Dain. I’m King now, remember?”  

“Fine, you’re a fuckin’ idiot _Yer Majesty_.” The warrior rolled off him and climbed unsteadily to his feet.

“Guess we’re a matched set. Help me up, you broke my back.”

“Too bad it wasn’t yer face. Then we’d really match.” The hand Dwalin offered him was off by a bit, but Thorin caught it anyway and was hauled upright. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I never was, even if ye chopped my arms and legs off. I just – you should’ve told me.”

“I know, and if I have to give you every barrel of mead in the whole mountain to make up for it, I will.”

“You tryin’ t’ buy me, Yer Majesty?” Dwalin laughed.   

“Call me that again and I’ll break you instead.” Thorin sighed and leaned in close enough to knock his forehead against Dwalin’s. “What do we do now?”

Dwalin leaned into the touch. They’d fought before over stupid things like wine and women, but this had been more serious and neither of them had enjoyed it. “Carry on, like we always do. Just a bit different now.”

“I don’t know if I like different.”

“Suck it up, then. You’ve got kingly shite to do. I’m just a blind old sod with no furniture left.”

“How did you manage to smash all of this?” Thorin asked, surveying the damage.  

Dwalin shrugged. “Tryin’ t’ get Nori. He keeps pickin’ the lock and breakin’ in t’ bait me. Otherwise it’d only be th’ one chair I tripped on originally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are four parts to this 'Crystal Flowers' chapter arc, and then we move on to slightly more original titles. We get to see Dis next, so that should be exciting!
> 
> Once again, thank you for being so patient with me while work is eating up 6/7 of my days every week. One day this monstrosity of a fic will be complete!
> 
> BUT TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY!


	63. Crystal Flowers - Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Emotional Pain

**Three months later**

 

There were no gates to throw open when Dis arrived. No horns to announce her when she rode into the mountain’s maw on the back of a sturdy black pony, a long line of wagons and carts trailing in her wake.

Instead there came twin cries of “ _Amad!_ ” and that was better than any sort of fanfare.

Dis swing off her mount, her midnight blue traveling cape and riding dress flaring out behind her as she rushed forward to embrace her sons.

It had been a year since she had last seen them, though it seemed like much longer than that. They had left Ered Luin not long after Thorin, their best traveling clothes on their back and smiles on their faces as they wiped her farewell kisses off their cheeks. Some small part of her had accepted then that she might never see them again. That her talisman stone wouldn’t be enough to bring her youngest back safely and that her eldest wouldn’t be as fast or as smart as he thought he was.

But here they were, the both of them laughing and crying as they hugged her so hard that her lungs longed for a taste of air. That didn’t stop her from holding onto them just as tightly.

They couldn’t stay that way forever, though she wished they could. The wagon train had stopped because they blocked the way into the mountain. No dwarrow would raise their voice in complaint of course; they had all followed her as far as this and waiting for a few minutes more to be in from the cold was not beyond any of them. Dwarrows and dwarrowdams alike rode around the three of them on ponies and sturdy long-horned rams, some of them with children sitting in front of them. All of them were tired and hungry, worn from the long months of hard travel and she would not make them wait longer than she had to to see their journey finally at an end.

“Come on, the both of you,” she said and grabbed her sons by their collars so that she could pull them out of the way.

The caravan came pouring in.

A large section of the entry hall had been blocked off with ropes and stone and the carts split ways around it as their exhausted drivers followed shouted instructions from a handful of soldiers wearing Dain’s colors. Something was being built there because several dwarrows with plans were standing around arguing and gesturing towards the ceiling as the travelers passed them by. It wasn’t a grand arrival in any regard, but they had made it in record time despite numerous setbacks and that was as good a trip as any could ask for. The rangers had left them when they passed through Lake-town, preferring the company and homes of men to the chill gloom of Erebor they said. They had taken her coin and been gone, as ready for a real bed and a pint as the rest of the caravan. Dis heard more than one sigh of relief as the dwarrows she’d spent the last three months with passed into the mountain, their shoulders straight but their eyes tired.

She had grown to know many of them while they traveled together and counted several as personal friends now. They had weathered hardships and bad weather together, laughed around the same fires and shared the same meals. Some smiled and nodded to her as they passed and she nodded back as she stroked her sons’ hair. Neither was speaking yet, too overcome with emotion to trust their voices so she was content to let them cleave to her sides and hold them until they composed themselves.

A short, gray-haired dwarrow came over, leading a ram by a rope around its head. Its sides were heavy with cooking pots and other paraphernalia befitting a chef.

“You’ve got a couple of growths there,” Jarn said, nodding at Fili and Kili. “I’ve got a good knife for peeling things like that.”  

“I think I’ll keep them for a little while,” Dis said with a smile. Jarn had been one of her more common companions during the journey and had been the one to teach her the difference between knives used to debone fish and peel potatoes. In Ered Luin Jarn had been in charge of feeding hundreds of miners and craftsmen every day and there had nearly been a riot when the dwarrow announced that ze would be traveling to Dis to Erebor. Dis had quickly learned why – Jarn’s fare was as good as any she’d had in the royal quarters. Simple and hearty, the dwarrow could do amazing things with a brace of rabbits and hir chest of fragrant spices. “Have you seen Maylin? She probably – “

“Mirra!”

“Bombur!”

“Do they have to do that in the front hall?” Fili asked in mortification, finally removing himself from his mother’s side to regard the married couple passionately kissing in front of everyone. Bombur’s wife was a beauty, her arms massive with heavy muscles from her work as a blacksmith and she looked strong enough to heft even the rotund Bombur right off his feet. A parcel of children milled about behind them, looking alternately interested and embarrassed at their parent’s ardor.

“Seems so,” Jarn laughed, scratching hir ram’s nose when it tried to chew on the end of hir braid. “Get a room, you two!”

“Did Gimli and his mum come too?” Kili asked with interest.

“Oh aye, they’re further towards the back,” the chef answered. “I’m going to be off to find somewhere to park this old fool. I’ve still got the right knife, if you’ve a mind to use it,” ze added as ze and the ram rejoined the procession. Dis just laughed and waved before turning back to her sons.

She hadn’t had a chance to get a good look at them before and now what she found made her heart ache. Thorin had written and told her that they’d both been wounded but her brother had always leaned towards the ‘less is more’ philosophy of letter-writing. Later she would have to beat him over the head with something heavy for not preparing her to face the damage that had been done to her children.   

They had seemed that way when they left – children. Both were only recently of age and still had the spring in their step and the light in their eyes that spoke of youthful enthusiasm and energy. That spark was gone now and had been replaced with exhaustion, pain, and grief. All of the things that a mother spent her night praying never touched her children and Fili and Kili had managed to find them all. There were bruises around their eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and lines of stress bracketed Fili’s mouth, only partially disguised by his mustache.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Kili mumbled, gingerly touching his marred face with his sleeve. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and she had a feeling he’d said the same thing more than once.

“If it was any worse, _sanzigil_ , I would be standing before your tomb rather than here with you.” Dis said gently as she lifted Kili’s head with a gloved hand to his chin and turned it to the side so that she could look at the spider web of red and white burn scars that trailed across his face and down underneath the collar of his tunic. The skin was pink and damaged, but she couldn’t smell any sickness or rot coming from her son that might indicate he was anything but recovering. Some parts of his skin was raised like there were veins of ore running beneath his skin, snaking through his core and brushing against the surface. “How much of you is like this?”

“All of this arm,” Fili answered, nudging Kili with his shoulder when his brother didn’t answer. “Half of his chest and a fair bit of his leg too. That was the way he was facing when – well, everyone thinks he’s blessed with Durin’s own luck to not be dead.”

“I’m too good looking to be dead yet,” Kili finally said and pulled his chin out of Dis’ hand. “And just when my beard was coming in too!” He mourned.

“You’re lying; it was just dust on your cheeks. Tell people Smaug burned it all off and they’ll be good and impressed.”

“You can come up with lies to tell later,” Dis interrupted, knowing that they would ramble on for another ten minutes and then start fighting if she didn’t head off the conversation. That was how it had always been and how it would always be. Fili and Kili were each other’s best friend and worst enemy. They had been since Fili first peeked over the edge of Kili’s cradle and asked who had put a piglet in the basinet instead of a baby. “I’ve seen burned dwarrows, Kili. Some by dragon fire, some in forges or house fires. Few were able to walk or work without pain, _sanzigil_. Who do I need to thank for helping you so?”

“Oin, some. He’s has a couple of tonics he makes me take every morning and another one for when I start to hurt too much. They all taste terrible.” He made a face.

“And Lanthiron,” Fili added.

“I was getting there, don’t rush me! One of the healer elves from Mirkwood stayed behind to take care of the couple that we have in the sick bay. He makes me this pasty stuff that smells like flowers and makes me keep the worst of it wrapped up. It helped make the blisters go away really fast. He said that he’d tested it on kings before, but I don’t know which one he meant. I put that on in the morning and evening and I have to see him once every three days to make sure that the scars don’t heal wrong.”

“How generous of him,” Dis said softly. Unusually so for an elf of the Greenwood. They tended to be cold and unfriendly. Whatever had brought around this alliance with Thranduil and his people could only be a good thing, though. When her caravan had passed through the forest they had been greeted by several elves at the beginning of the path and lead safely through its majority. They had even been resupplied with fresh water and food enough to make it to Erebor’s gates without their bellies gnawing at their spines. Even the rangers had been surprised by the odd show of generosity, but all the elves would say on the matter was that they had been commanded by Thranduil to help them.

“He’s nice,” said Kili. “I think that fixing people makes him happy. I saw him smile at one of Dain’s folk when the arm he broke turned out alright.”

If the healer thought that looking after her son was his civic duty, far be it from Dis to naysay him. She would be paying Lanthiron a visit soon to get the full details about Kili’s injury and see if she could get his recipe for burn salve from him. It would help to know what was in it in case the need for it arose. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had as a mother without being prepared for the worst. Of course, after living with Thorin for as long as she had, Fili and Kili were almost easy.

“I see Maylin, _sanzigil._ She’s just come in and looks lost.Would you greet her for me while I speak with your brother?” She was loath to be parted from either of her children, but Fili had always been more straightforward and less poetic than his brother and she needed to know exactly where how her family fared. They had been tested by fire and come through burned. She needed to know how much there was that she could salvage.

“Yes, _Amad_.” Kili knew better than to argue with his mother and walked off, skirting the edge of the incoming crowd as he worked his way towards the blonde dwarrowdam on the back of a red longhorn steer. Dwalin’s daughter had always been formidable to look upon with her crest of intricately braided hair and perpetual scowl. That was part of the reason Dis had chosen her as one of her personal guards. The long halberd propped on her shoulder didn’t hurt either. 

Dis’ sharp eyes didn’t miss the fact that her youngest was walking more gingerly and slowly than he usually would, and that his pained steps missed their usual exuberance.

“How is he really?”

Fili sighed. “Worse than he lets on. The healer does what he can, but he isn’t a miracle worker. He hasn’t been able to shoot yet because his arm won’t bend enough or hold up to the weight of the draw. That upset him, but Oin says that if he keeps limber enough he might be able to shoot again someday. He doesn’t want to slow down, _Amad._ If he keeps trying to act like…like he’s whole, I’m afraid that he’ll hurt himself even more.”

“He _is_ whole, _kidhuz,”_ Dis said gently, settling her hand on Fili’s tense shoulder. “You have your life, and that makes you complete enough. Don’t curse fate for harming you - leave that to your mother. Now tell me how you fare.”

A silence hung between them for a while, filled with the sound of the caravan. Animals bleated and bellowed, dwarrows shouted and laughed. Fili finally leaned into her a little bit. He was taller than she by at least two inches and Dis tenderly stroked the short ends of his shorn hair.

“Oin says that I might be able to run again, but he doesn’t think it’s likely. Kili saved my life – pushing me away from Smaug’s fire. My knee hit a hammer when I fell though and it broke every bone in my leg. It was bent the wrong way when they set it and I was still awake when they put it back again.”

“Do you have a brace?” No amount of words could erase the pain that her sons had suffered. The best she could do now was try to help them move beyond it and recover.

Fili nodded and leaned down to pull up the leg of his trousers. There was a steel contraption strapped to his leg, held tight by leather bands around his ankle and above and below his knee. The whole limb was wrapped up with clean gauze but she could see that the leg beneath the cover was twisted and broken-looking.

“It helps me stand and walk, but I can’t go very far yet before I have to sit down. I haven’t tried riding yet. I think I’ll always have a limp even if I can eventually remove this thing.” He tapped his fingers against one of the metal supports around his calf before dropping his pant leg again. “But I’d rather be a cripple than dead, so I have to thank Mahal for that.”

That they had both made it seemed like a miracle to her. Even in Ered Luin they had heard tales of the terrible battle that had taken place at the foot of the mountain and of Smaug’s role in it. She had watched her family walk away to war once and lost Frerin, her father, and grandfather in one fell swoop. She wasn’t sure she could have taken losing her sons and remaining brother as well.

And speaking of her brother…

“Where is your uncle, _kidhuz?_ I have a few words I need to have with him.” And a couple blows to the head with a blunt object that she needed to personally deliver. She had never supported this hair-brained plan of his. Taking back Erebor had seemed as impossible as pulling down the moon to her, and she hadn’t had any interest in reclaiming what Thorin saw as their birthright. Smaug and the mountain had taken her mother and plunged their family into years of bad luck, so it had always seemed like a cursed place to her. They had been _happy_ in Ered Luin, after a time. They had carved out a good life for themselves there once Borar had met an unfortunate end in the mines and died childless. The Durin family had easily taken up the reigns of leadership and Thorin had promptly made Dis the Queen rather than taking the title himself.

She’d always known that he wouldn’t split himself between Ered Luin and Erebor. The Lonely Mountain and the Arkenstone had always had a hold on his heart and he would never have happily ruled over such a lowly place as the Blue Mountains. That honor had fallen to her instead and it was one that she hadn’t taken without some misgivings.

After all, her silver crown had bound her in place when Thorin took her sons to fight a dragon.

“He’s on the battlements. He spends a lot of time there now. A staircase almost went out from under him the other day on his way up to see the ravens and Dain forbade anyone from going up until it was repaired.”

“It sounds as though having Dain around has been fortunate indeed,” Dis said, though she wouldn’t have shed many tears if Thorin had indeed taken a bit of a tumble. His bones were so thick that it would have done more damage to whatever he landed on than to him.

Fili turned to look at her. “Don’t be too hard him, _Amad._ ”

“I’ll be as hard on him as this foolish journey was on the two of you. I let you go because you’re both adults and it was your choice to accompany my idiotic brother, but I didn’t want to. I half-expected to have to visit your graves at the end of everything, Fili.”  

“I know, _Amad_. But I think that Uncle is worse than we are.”

“Was he wounded?”

“No, just a blow to his head and some cuts and broken ribs.” He looked back to where Kili was talking animatedly to Maylin as she dismounted from her steer. Her eldest had a sad cast to his face. “Do you remember when _Adad_ died?” He asked softly.

“Every morning when I wake and at night before I sleep.”

Fili nodded. “You never let us see you cry. You were always smiling like you had to make the sun rise with it, just for us. I resented you for it for a little while. I thought that you didn’t care that he was dead. I understand now, _Amad_. I think I know how hard it must have been for you because Uncle is doing the same thing now. He doesn’t let us see him cry, but he doesn’t smile either. He doesn’t do _anything_.” Fili clenched and unclenched his hands in a show of helpless frustration. “We can’t make him laugh. He barely sees us or anyone, really. I think that we’re all ghosts to him.”

Dis rocked back on the heels of her boots, feeling like she’d been hit in the temple with a poleaxe. She would have wished any injury on Thorin for dragging her boys into his irrational dream of treasure and glory, but not that one. Never that one. Pain like that could kill a dwarrow. They were a hearty race by nature, resisting all forms of illness and recovering from injuries that would down a less person. Pain of the heart was different.

“Who did he lose, _kidhuz?_ ” She asked gently.

“Bilbo,” Fili sniffed. “The hobbit we brought with us to be our burglar. He – he died. During the battle, I mean. Uncle blames himself for it, I know he does. They had a bitter fight right before and Thorin locked him up. Kili and I were too shocked to do anything, _Amad_. He was like a stranger and he was so angry…If we had acted maybe he would still be alive.”

“Don’t say that, Fili. Don’t you ever say that,” she shushed him, cupping her son’s face and pulling him down so that they were at eye level. “Don’t blame yourself for the actions of others. That isn’t a weight that you need to bear. It is not yours so don’t borrow it from your uncle.”   

Fili nodded morosely and she knew that his depression would not be so easily shaken from his shoulders. “We’ve been trying to help him, but nothing seems to work and I think Kili and I are running out of smiles. He’s been waiting for you but he couldn’t even come down to see you arrive. He’s ashamed, _Amad_. I know he is.”

Dis released Fili’s face so that she could rub her own, combing her gloved fingers through her short black beard. “He always was a difficult one. I’ll have to seek him out myself and see what I can do to right him. Will you look after your brother and tell Maylin where I’ve gone? I’ll find you later, in time for dinner.”

“Yes, _Amad_.”

__________________________________

It wasn’t hard to find her way to the stairs that lead to the battlements, but it took longer than she would have liked to make the journey. Every few steps forward brought her into contact with another dwarrow who had to speak with her and thank her and ask what was going to happen now that they’d arrived in Erebor. She had her hands bowed over more times than she could count and was blessed in Mahal’s good name so many times that she thought the Maker Himself might sit up and ask why the name ‘Dis’ was floating around his ears. Each time she said the necessary niceties, laughed, and directed them to one of the soldiers who were helping with crowd control. They were the ones who knew where the livestock was being housed, where the cook tents were, where to find medicine or supplies. They were also the ones who could answer the dozens of questions everyone seemed to have about Smaug and the current state of affairs concerning him.

Dis swallowed her own questions and finally broke away from the crowd to make her way up the carved stairs that lead to the king’s lonely retreat.  

Thorin was there and he didn’t notice her until she leaned on the wall next to him, facing the broken road that lead towards the burned husk of Dale. There was still snow decorating the ground, but it had begun to melt in places as the weather slowly changed to spring. It wouldn’t be much longer before grass and weeds began to peek through at the edges and then things would be more green than gray.

For now though, it remained as white as the ever-expanding streaks in her brother’s hair.

Thorin caught her looking at him and looked back. They observed each other as strangers would.

Dis knew what he would see. She had traveled fast and hard and it showed. The lines on her face had grown deeper since they’d left and here and there silver had begun to dot her mane of black hair. Her eyes match his and their noses as well. They had always been too similar for their own good. Frerin had been the laughing one, the one with a joke on his tongue and a smile to balance out his more somber siblings. Thorin had had a fire though, she remembered it well. It came out when he’d wrestled with Fili and Kili on the floor of their home. When he’d come home from a good day working in the forges with sweat on his brow. When he thought no one was looking and he stared out the window, lost in dreams.

She could find no hint of it now.

A dwarrow looked back at her, but it wasn’t Thorin. Thorin couldn’t be so dead inside, so nearly unrecognizable as he’d become. His hair was brushed and oiled, but his braids were missing. Hollow cheeks and sunken eyes greeted her fingers when she reached out to brush a strand of white hair off of her brother’s face. He didn’t flinch away from her touch, but neither did he lean into it. It wasn’t impassiveness but rather a chilling indifference that had consumed him and it made Dis cold. Vili’s passing had left a hole in her that had been filled with thunderclouds and torrential rains of sorrow. Thorin was ice and shadows now and she didn’t know where to look for his fire.

“I missed you, _Nadad_ ,” she said. There was nothing else to say, nothing else she could be sure would reach him where he’d gone to hide inside himself.

“Dis…” His voice was rusty.

She caught him as his shoulders dropped and his knees went to water.

“What took you so long, _Namad_?” He whispered.  

"Maylin comes to Erebor" by [Marie Jacquelyn](http://mariejacquelyn.tumblr.com/post/86794578791/maylin-comes-to-erebor-a-quick-doodle-of/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more part to the 'Crystal Flowers' chapter arc and then we're back on track until the end. Sorry more characters didn't feature in this chapter, this arc is more to study Thorin's reaction to acute emotional trauma. Everyone will pop back up later, worry not.
> 
> Art by me.
> 
> Jarn and Mirra are from thorinsmut's ["A Ladle and some Stew"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/789649/chapters/1491370), which I highly recommend reading.


	64. Crystal Flowers - Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Depression, Emotional Pain

**Three years later**

 

The heat washed over his arms, so hot it bordered on painful.

He didn’t pull back.

Flames licked his fingertips and sweat trickled down his brow as Thorin turned the rod of glass over and over until it glowed white hot in the tongs. Working fast, he twisted off a piece of it and flattened it out on the anvil next to him, rolling it flatter and flatter until it was as thin as a piece of parchment and gently curved. It was affixed to the many that had come before it with the smallest bead of hot glass, fusing it in place. He held it there until it had cooled enough not to warp – he had ruined hundreds before he’d managed to perfect his technique. Up until now he had worked with only wood and metal. Glass was an element that had never tempted him before. It was too fragile. Too showy and expensive to be worthy the time it took to make anything useful. They’d imported the raw glass all the way from the southern dwarf kingdom of Amanrash for him and every colored piece of it had cost Erebor in gold that he’d been only too happy to give away. He couldn’t touch the stuff anymore. Not gold, not gems, or silver filigree.

The glass was still warm as he turned the clear, fragile stem of the glass rose between his fingers, looking it over for any flaws or bubbles that might make it less than perfect. Tiny thorns brushed against his fingertips, but he didn’t feel them. His hands had long since grown numb after endless hours of working the forge without any gloves to shield him from the intense heat. All of the hair had been burned off his hands, but he couldn’t get a sense of what he was doing with his hands when the heavy leather was between him and his tools. Even when he’d worked in the forges of men he had forgone them and his hands showed the evidence of that even more now. They were covered in burns and scratches, old and new, and small spots where molten glass had touched him.

They weren’t the hands of a king. A smith perhaps, a commoner, but not a king. Even his rings had been removed and been strung on a cord around his neck. They knocked against each other inside his shirt, his blue sapphire, the rough iron band that was the first piece Frerin had ever crafted, and the delicate Consort’s Ring sandwiched between them. He wouldn’t wear them anymore. They didn’t suit his hands.

Shriek fluffed herself where she was perched on one of the work shelves at the back of the private forge. Her eyes gleamed gold in the light of the forge as she watched him work, mercifully quiet. She knew that he would tolerate no interruptions or conversation while he was crafting. The ravens never asked for anything, never told him that he was late or that he’d missed a meeting or that his family was worried about him. They crooned when he scratched the feathers around their necks and laughed when he talked to them. They told him about the weather and their chicks and the mischief they’d been getting up to, and sometimes it was enough to give him enough strength of spirit to face his duties again.

When it wasn’t, he would retreat to his workshop and make crystal flowers.

Thorin, King Under the Mountain, turned to place the red rose with the others he’d made earlier. There were more than a dozen of them, ranging from white carnations to sprays of tiny blue forget-me-nots and a shining bundle of royal purple heliotrope that had taken him hour upon hour to craft without damaging the hundreds of individual glass blossoms.

There were two figures standing in the stone doorway, ones that he easily recognized and should have anticipated being there.

Dwalin was the only one who visited him here now.

Fili and Kili had come in the beginning, but it hadn’t taken them long to realize that they were invading his private space and getting in his way. Dain had lasted longer, but his cousin’s interests had always tended more towards war and politics rather than craftsmanship. He only came now when he had to drag Thorin out if he was late to a meeting or one of the hundreds of other events that seemed to require the supervision of a king. He didn’t come as often now, not since Thorin’s last explosion during a routine going over of all of their trade agreements and the interest they had procured from them. The pointless haggling over a few paltry handfuls of coin had grated on his nerves. Only after being exposed so thoroughly to gold sickness himself did he begin to recognize it in others and it made him more than a little ill to watch that same greed grow in those around him. It lessened every year as Smaug’s toxic magic faded, but while even a little bit existed the mere thought of dealing with gold and treasure made Thorin begin to tremble with poorly-concealed panic.  

Dis had never sought him out here. She alone seemed to understand that this was his sanctuary and that he didn’t happily suffer visitors. He was here to work and sweat away his stress until he could sleep well enough the he didn’t wake up with a scream on his tongue and his hands clutching at the pillow next to him. Some days he still did no matter how many flowers he made.  

Dwalin licked his thumb and used it to turn the page of the heavy book he had balanced on his other arm. It was a casual motion, one well practiced and completely pointless because both of Dwalin’s eyes were hidden behind an ornately crafted band that bent over the bridge of his nose and buckled behind his head. It hid his sightless eyes but not the scar that had taken them from him. He couldn’t see the book he held, but the movements were all right despite that.

“Bit of light reading?” His best friend asked, turning another page. Thorin pushed back the urge to snatch the old volume away from him.

“I use it for the illustrations,” he growled and carefully took the book away, smoothing down the corner of the page that Dwalin had been playing with. Balin had found it for him almost a year ago; when Thorin had sunk so low that he had begun to snap at everyone around him like a feral dog. It was filled to the brim with hand drawn pictures of plants and flowers, clearly not drawn by any dwarf and yet Balin had somehow managed to locate it in the dusty depths of the great library. It was fragile and the parchment had yellowed, but the painted flowers were as bright as they had ever been. Each one he studied closely before he attempted to recreate it in glass, learning its name and where it grew and what it meant before he dedicated himself to it.

Now hundreds of crystal flowers decorated the lonely grave on the slope of the mountain, covering it in a garden that would never wilt or die.

 _Forgive me_ , said the hyacinths.

 _I miss you_ , said the zinnias.

 _I love you_ , said the roses.

 _Sleep well_ , said the poppies.

“Forget how to read the ones with words in ‘em? Dain’ll be thrilled to find that bit out – he’ll be able to pass all sorts of stuff under your nose now and all you’ll have t’ do is sign ‘em. Or did you forget how t’ do that too?”

“You’re going to trip and fall into my forge and no one will be able to prove it wasn’t an accident. Up,” Thorin told Shriek and she hopped to another shelf so that he could set the book back where it belonged. It was far enough from the forge that no stray sparks would catch on its pages, but close enough that he could always open it if he needed to see one of the pictures. 

There was a cool, wet touch at his elbow and he turned to find himself being regarded by Dunin’s liquid black eyes. Dwalin’s dog was a monstrous beast, nearly as high at his shoulder as Dwalin himself. Thorin had seen the dog stand on his hind legs once and it had towered over both of them. Nori had brought Dunin back with him from an excursion to the Iron Hills. Apparently he was half warg and no one had known what to do with him because he hadn’t responded well to battle training. The rest of his pack mates had been so feral that they’d been put down, but Dunin had been mellow enough to keep, just not enough to train. Or so they’d thought. By the time Dwalin had finished with him, the dog had learned fifty different commands in both Khuzdul and the common tongue, including ‘sit’, ‘rest’, and ‘follow’. It had made him an ideal companion for Dwalin and the two had been inseparable for nearly two years now. Where Dwalin went, so too went Dunin.

Thorin buried his hands in the thick black and brown fur of Dunin’s face and rubbed vigorously. “Dunin, you won’t tell anyone that I pushed your master into the fire, will you?”

“He will,” Shriek croaked. “Dogs tattle.”

“He likes me more than you,” Dwalin said. “Course, I can’t blame him. Most folk like me more than you.”

“What do you want?” Thorin asked, still rubbing Dunin’s ever-smiling face. “I was working.”

“Oh aye, makin’ flowers. Very useful stuff. Let’s have it.”

Reluctantly Thorin retrieved the flower from the vase of flowers where he’d left it and handed it to Dwalin. His friend’s fingers traced the thorns, the sharp edges of the leaves and the tight furl of small petals in the middle of the red rose.

“What color is it?” He asked.

“Red.”

“Fittin’.” Dwalin turned the rose back and forth. “You missed th’ party.”

“What party was that?” Thorin took the flower back and turned away, cradling it protectively. He didn’t care about parties. Dain had enough of them that he’d long since stopped feeling obliged to bless them all with his presence. Holidays, birthdays, parties to celebrate treaties and alliances. It was a miracle Erebor still had a drop of liquor left to drink with as many excuses as the dwarrows found to celebrate. Of course, it had been a very long time since Erebor’s people had had an opportunity to be merry, so it wasn’t as though he could begrudge them their entertainment. He simply didn’t have to join in. He would drink too much and drink made his tongue too loose. Sometimes his sorrows came out and that wasn’t a burden he wanted to share with anyone.

“Third anniversary of th’ battle. Dis had your party clothes out and all of it. I think you were supposed to give a speech, but Dain covered for you well enough. Talked about great victories and loss and alliances and whatnot, very movin’. Should’ve been there.”

“I missed that?” Thorin asked in surprise. “I thought it was – I thought I still had time.”

“Dis told you, Thorin. Must’ve been twenty times. Even told you that if you didn’t show she’d cut your braids off, but I guess you didn’t hear.” Dwalin’s footsteps were heavy and his friend’s hand landed on his shoulder. “I don’t blame you for forgettin’ about that one, but I thought you would’ve come to the Company’s party afterward. We’ve been doin’ it for two years now and you’ve managed it those times.” His hand tightened. “How long’ve you been in here this time?”

“Day and a half,” Shriek answered when Thorin was silent. He couldn’t remember when he’d started working. He’d just lost himself to the fire and the glass and the blissful sensation of not having to _think_ or _remember._

“I forgot,” He whispered.

“You’re forgettin’ a lot, lately. You know that? You think we don’t notice, but we see it. Dis says you’ve not been eatin’ right or sleepin’. Your feet drag when you walk. I can hear ‘em. You’re _sick,_ Thorin.”

“Dwarrows don’t get sick,” Thorin snarled, shaking off Dwalin’s hand. Dunin grumbled at them, not liking the scent of fire and anger. “We are of the stone and we aren’t subject to that!”

“Aye, we don’t cough or sneeze, but stone breaks you fool! It crumbles and turns to dust and we’ve been watchin’ you dash yourself t’ pieces for three years! Sometimes I wonder if you can even remember why you’ve been doin’ it at all!”

“Of course I remember!” He shouted. “It’s all I see when I shut my eyes and I wasn’t even there! I should have been there! Now all I have is this!” Without thinking he reached into the forge and snatched up a rod of blue glass. It wasn’t liquid, but it was hot enough that he could feel his skin burning and bubbling. When he dropped it in pain, it snapped and broke into a hundred pieces.

Dunin whined.

Ever so slowly, Dwalin crouched and felt around on the floor until he found one of the shards of still-warm glass. His head was bowed as he rose with it. “What was his name?”  

“Don’t play this game with me, Dwalin. Not you.”

“ _What was his name?”_ Dwalin bellowed at him so fiercely that Thorin took a step back despite himself, his burned hand cradled against his chest.

“His name – it was – “ He tried to answer, but his tongue tied itself into knots. Night after night he’d spent drowning in his own guilt, imagining a hundred thousand different ways of watching him die, and now for some reason he couldn’t remember his name. All he saw were wide, scared eyes and bloodless lips. And it was his own hands that he saw covered in his beloved’s lifeblood.

“ _Please, Thorin_ ,” said the ghost that haunted him.

Thorin sagged backwards until the shelf behind him was all the supported him, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. “Why?” He breathed. “Why did I forget?”

Dwalin shrugged. “You’ve been hidin’ too much, if you ask me. Oin has some technical answer but I don’t think any medicine is goin’ t’ fix you. You’re breakin’, Thorin.” He tossed the blue glass back to the floor. “I would’ve followed you anywhere. _Anywhere,_ Thorin.” His friend’s voice caught. “I thought our quest was a death sentence, but I went anyway. And now you’re goin’ somewhere I can’t follow and you’re still standin’ here in front of me. What’m I supposed to do about this, eh? Just let you sink down until one morning you just don’t get up again?”

“I’m not going to – “

“Aye, you are. Th’ Thorin Oakenshield I knew would’ve been a good king. Now I’m not so sure. You got lost somewhere and I’m startin’ t’ wonder if you’re goin’ t’ find your way back or if we’re goin’ t’ have t’ cover your tomb with these damn flowers too.”

“They aren’t for me,” Thorin said, his eyes on the stone floor.

“They’re for a ghost, then. You think Bilbo cares about the damn glass you’ve been stickin’ in th’ dirt? Must be a thousand of ‘em now. I may not have known him as well as you seem t’ think you did, but seems t’ me he would’ve liked real ones better.”

Hearing that name was a knife thrust to his heart.

“ _Real ones die.”_

“So does everythin’ else! You an’ me an’ all of it! That’s what makes it worth caring about. Cherish th’ things that matter because none of it lasts. Dunin. _Agjîj_.” He commanded the hound. “We’re not meant t’ be here.”

Thorin couldn’t find the strength to watch them go or call them back again.   

Shriek flew down from the shelf and landed on his knee when he sank to the floor. “Why did I forget?” He asked her, desperate for an answer.

The raven fluffed herself. “Don’t think it, don’t speak it, so forget it. Same for all.”

“I should have said it every day, but all I could see was my own sorrow. None of the good things.” It was like a poison that he’d breathed in and now it was eating at him body and soul. He shifted the raven from his knee to his shoulder and walked to the vase of crystal flowers. They gleamed a hundred different colors in the shifting light of his forge. He touched the corner of the red rose. It almost looked alive. “Dwalin was right. He would have liked real ones more.”

It only took a quick sweep of his burned hand to send all of them toppling to the floor.  

__________________________________

No matter the time or distance he put between himself and the gold, it would always call to him. Thorin stood in one of the dark alcoves of the hall and watched the activity going on without having to be a part of it. Most of it centered around the mammoth statue that now dominated the center of the entrance hall.

‘Smaug’s March’ they were calling it.

It was nearing completion now, only a few more weeks of work would be necessary before the final touches were put on it. The entire piece was flawless. Each scale had been individually crafted in pure gold and then fit into place, spotted through with raw gems and coins to give the illusion that the dragon himself was walking down towards the gates. He was life-size and so large that his spined tail had been made to trail out of the hall and towards the throne room. Each of his eyes was made from a thousand rubies and torches burned behind them to make them glow from the inside.

Thorin could almost feel them watching him, which he knew was ridiculous when the real thing slumbered only slightly further away, buried deep in his piles of treasure while the dwarrows of the mountain counted and sorted around him. Gloin had been elected the new Master of Coin and had taken charge of all of the bankers and accountants and ruled over them with an iron quill. No coin passed under his nose or out the newly-made front gates that he didn’t know about. It was well known that Gloin and Smaug had a glorious rivalry and that their fights usually ended with shouting and fire until they both cooled down enough to continue their debate over payments and whether or not specific pieces counted as ‘hoard’ or ‘historical heirloom’.

Ori and Bofur were among those milling about at the base of the statue. Bofur was deep in conversation with a group of goldsmiths, who were gesturing at the rolls of plans spread out on a nearby table and then up at the statue. Even from where he stood Thorin could hear them arguing about the internal structure of the thing and whether or not it would have to be reinforced before the front wings were affixed to it. The years had been very good to the ex-miner. Now he had a hand in most of the mining that went on in Erebor as well as a seat on the Guild Council. His hair had grown out enough that his pigtails hung down his back now and someone had put golden ribbons on the ends of them. Thorin racked his brain and remembered that Dori had politely but firmly turned down Bofur’s affections when things had begun to settle down in the mountain. Bofur seemed to have taken the rejection well enough because he had been taken in by Ahdri and Telwre, Maibe’s Road-wed southern dwarves. The pale, smiling dwarrow made a striking addition to the pair, who always stood out with their dark skin and golden tattoos.

Ori was sitting by himself on a small folding bench, his journal open on his lap and a quill in his hand. Because the scribe wasn’t talking to anyone else, it was him that Thorin approached. He had to make things right again and reconnecting with his Company was the first step of that. He’d missed their party, their private memorial for everything they’d lost and given up, and he’d been a poor excuse for a leader as of late.

Those dwarrows who met his eyes as he walked across the room bent their heads with murmurs of ‘Your Majesty’ before continuing on their way. Even with this, Ori didn’t notice him until Thorin leaned over his shoulder to see what he was writing with such intense concentration. Then he squeaked in surprise and slammed the heavy tome shut with an echoing ‘boom’.

“Th – Your Majesty! I’m sorry I didn’t see you – “

“Since when have any of you called me ‘Your Majesty’?” Thorin tried to smile but it fell far short of its mark and Ori just looked uncomfortable.

“You’re the King now. The real one, I mean. With a mountain. It just seems…appropriate.”  

“Appropriate or not, you don’t have to…” He trailed off as something in front of them caught his eye. There was a smaller statue at the base of Smaug’s golden splendor. Although it repulsed him to get so close to the mountain of gold (already he could hear it whispering in his mind, scratching at the inside of his skull with mithril claws), Thorin slowly stepped around Ori’s bench. It had been several weeks since he had last visited the hall and this piece hadn’t been there last time.

Unlike the rest of the statue, this part wasn’t in gold, but in wood that had been carefully sealed and painted until it mimicked flesh.

“Bifur carved it,” Ori said softly as he came up beside Thorin, his journal cradled in his arms as he looked at the statue of Bilbo Baggins walking next to Smaug with one hand touching the dragon’s golden hide. His other hand held Sting and the little blade had been painted blue. His vest hung open at the front and each of his little buttons had been engraved with a tiny copper acorn. “I drew a picture for him and he spent almost a year working on it.”  

“How did you – “ Thorin found himself at a loss for words. A curl of honey-colored hair had fallen over Bilbo’s brow and he reached out to brush it away. It was only wood though, and he made a fist to keep himself from lashing out in helpless pain.

“I was there,” Ori replied. “He was being chased by goblins and I tried to help, so I followed him. I think – I’m not sure if we would have won the battle if he hadn’t gotten Smaug. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen,” he said and laughed a little bit. “I thought I was dead for sure, but Smaug just ignored me and smashed down the rocks that were blocking the way out.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Thorin asked. They both knew he wasn’t talking about Smaug.

“He wanted us to meet again as friends,” said Ori. “Of course, I always thought we were anyway. He was – he was a very, very good friend. I don’t think anyone knows just how much.” He glanced down at the book in his arms and then up again at Thorin. “You should read this. I’ve been cleaning it up and adding in those things that I can still remember, so it should have most everything in it. I even asked the others to tell me their sides of things so that I could have all of the details. I’m not done with all of the pictures yet, but I don’t think those are really necessary for the story.” The scribe bit his lip as he handed the journal over to Thorin. “Maybe – maybe it’ll help.”

It was a thick book. Thorin was surprised at the weight of the words and he carefully traced the cover with his thumb. “Does it have a title?”

Ori flushed pink. “No, it’s just a journal. Those don’t usually have titles.”

“Historical tomes do, and I believe this is the only true account of our travels.”

“Oh.” Ori seemed to think for a minute. “In that case, I think that I’ll call it ‘ _An Expected Journey_ ’.” 

 

Art by [shamingcows](http://shamingcows.tumblr.com/post/90229709448/an-expected-journey-by-mariejacquelyn-scanned/)

Art by [meereseibe](http://meereseibe.tumblr.com/post/93340282324/ok-i-finally-managed-to-finish-it-after-about-2/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six chapters to go. Let me see if I can still pull a magical happy ending out of my hat.


	65. An Expected Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mention of Major Character Death

**_TA 2941_ **

_This journal, and all that it contains and what follows after, is an impartial reckoning of the travels and adventures of the Company of King Thorin II Oakenshield and our journey to reclaim the Kingdom of Erebor from Smaug the Terrible._

_Written, edited, and illustrated by Ori, son of Kori, understudy of Balin, son of Fundin, of Erebor._

__________________________________

Today my brothers and I signed on to the Company of one Thorin II Oakenshield. When we sought the blessings of our friends and neighbors, they would not give them. Most believe this journey to be folly and that all who sign on will perish either along the road or be consumed by Smaug himself. They will not curse themselves by wishing such a venture well. Even Queen Dis does not believe that we will succeed and has argued against it time and again, but her brother will not be budged. I am glad that his nephews Fili and Kili are coming because they are friends of mine, but if it is true that we are all fated to die, I find myself wishing that they were remaining behind with the Queen. I do not believe that common folk like my brothers and I will be overly missed if we do indeed perish, but the princes would be mourned by all.

It was Dori’s idea to sign on with the Company and I think that he originally intended to go alone and leave me behind to tend to his shop in his absence. Dori has always been loyal to the royal family and I saw him sitting up late many nights before he decided to join the Company. He was not pleased when I did as well, but since I am of age now it was my choice to make. Once I had put my name to the contract Nori made the choice to come as well (though he was much less gracious about it). He seems to think that we would both die before we departed from Ered Luin without him there to watch our backs. I told him that I was glad to have him with us and Dori grumbled about it, but I know that he is pleased as well. Nori has been traveling a lot as of late and it was good to have the three of us united on this venture.

I feel as though there is no obstacle that we cannot overcome together. 

There is a month to prepare before we depart. We must wait for the last of the snow to melt before we can travel or else the road may be too perilous. We plan to follow the Lune River to Arthedain and then to the White Downs. Balin says that we had planned to push straight on to Bree and try to make it there before the middle of spring, but we were paid a visit by a wizard most recently and there was a change of plans.

Gandalf is a very odd sort of wizard. He dresses all in gray and no speck of dirt ever seems to cling to his robes, although they drag behind him. That seems like a very handy type of Magic. He is ever smoking and laughing at jokes or something he has remembered, even when he is sitting by himself. He always has a kind word and seems to get on just fine with Dori. He is to accompany us on our journey to Erebor and says that he has a contact in the Shire who will aid us as well. Apparently this Halfling is the son of an old friend of his and is the sort of useful sort of person one wants to have on hand when dealing with dragons. I’m not sure why we need a burglar when Nori is along, but Nori says that there is a difference between being a burglar and a thief. Thieves take things because they want or need them while burglars are simply good at getting in and out of tight places and situations. I’ve always thought that Nori was the best at getting out of tight situations since he is constantly leading the guards of Ered Luin on a merry chase, but I wouldn’t want him to have to be the one to go into the mountain first to see if the dragon is still about. If Gandalf thinks that job is best left to the Halfling Burglar, I’m sure that he knows best.

__________________________________

Kili tried to pack his own saddlebags today and one of his knives came out of its sheathe at the bottom. It split the whole bag open and dumped everything on the floor. Thorin says that he is to repair it himself or only take what he can keep in his pockets. He repaired the bag but I’ve decided to never let him near me or my things with a sewing needle.

Preparations for our journey continue, though there is little that I can do. Most of it has to do with contractual agreements and finding anyone else who would join on with us. The King has journeyed ahead to a meeting with the other kingdoms to see if they will lend us any aid. I am confident that they will send soldiers to accompany us when they see Thorin’s resolve. I think that if anyone could emerge from this triumphant, it would be him. I have never before met someone so intense and confident.

The rest of the Company will follow within the next few days and we will all meet again in the Shire. I am quite excited for this because I have never had the pleasure of meeting a Halfling before. I saw one from a distance in the markets once, but it seemed that they were just passing through because I did not see them again afterwards. I have read a bit about them, but they do not seem to be overly friendly with folk that they don’t know, so I hope that our host won’t mind talking with me so that I might write a bit more on the subject of Halflings and expand my knowledge of their culture.

We have all moved into the Palace so that the more important members may confer with each other more easily without sending messengers at all hours. I have never slept in so soft a bed before. Nori doesn’t like his and prefers to sleep sitting in the windowsill. I think being around so many people is making him nervous because he keeps vanishing at odd hours and then showing back up again in time for dinner. If I thought I could keep up with him, I would follow him to see where he was going. I seem to have inherited our mother’s strength like Dori though and cannot climb or run like Nori can.

I also met the others who joined the Company at dinner this evening. There are thirteen of us in total, myself and my brothers included. The three Durins and both sons of Fundin are also coming, which I am glad of because I delight in Balin’s company and wisdom. Dwalin used to frighten me a little, but his daughter Maylin and I have known each other for almost thirty years and she is part of the reason I decided to sign on with this quest. She has joined the Ered Luin guards and I am still an apprentice with no fortune to speak of. Perhaps helping slay a dragon and reclaim a kingdom will help her think more highly of me.

Other than them, two dwarrows named Oin and Gloin are coming as well. Oin is the elder of the two brothers and he is an experienced physician. Gloin is a banker but he also seems to have some fighting experience and has been handling most of the expenses for the journey. We met in passing once because his son is also a friend of mine, though Gimli is not of age yet and could not join his father. Fili and Kili and I went drinking with him the other night and he drank so much in his sorrow that we had to dump him into the pony trough to wake him up enough that he could walk home. I think he is going to miss us while we are gone, but we have all three assured him that once we defeat Smaug we will send word to him so that he may come and join us in Erebor. That didn’t seem to cheer him up overly much.

The other three are dwarrows of Ered Luin – two brothers and their cousin. They all three seem very nice though Bifur only speaks in signs and Khuzdul because of an injury he received some years back. He seems intelligent despite this and I have dedicated myself to learning hand-language so that I may speak with him without one of his cousins having to act as a translator. The other two are named Bofur and Bombur. Bofur is a miner and I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was so determined to get along with everyone he meets. Bombur is to act as our chef along the road. I’m grateful that Dori was not given this task – although he brews truly marvelous tea his fare tends to be a bit less toothsome.

Once we collect our burglar we shall make fourteen. Fifteen with Gandalf, but I think that he is a guide more than a member since Balin did not make him sign any contracts. If no one comes from the other kingdoms to help us, I hope this will be enough to see Erebor reclaimed.

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Today we departed Ered Luin. Neither Balin nor Dwalin was with us, they both had other business to deal with and will meet us along the road. We left before the sun had risen, so there were few to see us off. Queen Dis watched us go from the gates and she did not smile. She, along with most of the city, thinks that they will never see us again. I am writing this as we sit in the common room of an inn along the road. Luckily our first night was not spent out in the open, for it has begun to rain. I was not able to write on the back of my pony, for though he is a good and sturdy creature that I have named Cinnamon, he sways so much that my quill skitters right off the page and I had to rip out two pages because of the mess.

Today was rather uneventful, so I have little to write about. Other than Bofur’s pony trying to dump him into a ditch, there were no setbacks and the road was smooth and free of any sort of trouble. We should be in the Shire in a week’s time and when we reach it I hope that I will have enough to write about that it will fill half of my journal.

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The Shire is a beautiful place. Dori compared it to a rabbit warren - there’s much more of it underground than you would originally guess. If it hadn’t been for the smoke coming out of the little chimneys everywhere I might have looked right by the entire place and thought it nothing more than a field with some well-tended gardens. Only when we began down the path on our ponies did I realize that there were round doors leading into houses that had been built right into the hills. It seems like a very clever way to do things. The mountain kept Ered Luin at a constant temperature throughout the season, but without a mountain to live in here I believe that the underground homes kept things pleasant in both the summer and the winter. I could smell things cooking in every hole we passed and that alone made it seem like a very friendly place even though no one came out to meet us as we rode. It seemed true what I’d heard about them not being very friendly, but at least they weren’t trying to drive us off.

We left the ponies to graze nearby and Gandalf met us at the front door. Fili and Kili had charged ahead and had beaten us to the house of our host by a full ten minutes. Balin and Dwalin were also waiting for us. We were met at the door by Bilbo Baggins.

Thinking back now, as I sit in front of his very comfortable hearth, I think that he had been crying before we arrived. His eyes were very puffy and his nose was pink. I hope that our intrusion was not what upset him.

Bilbo Baggins is a very interesting hobbit (they prefer to be called ‘hobbits’ rather than Halflings). Or rather, I think that he is since I have never met a hobbit before so I have no point of comparison. He doesn’t wear any shoes – instead he has very hard feet that are covered in curly hair that matches that on his head. He also doesn’t have any trace of a beard, but Gandalf tells me that it is normal for hobbits to not grow any facial hair whatsoever. I wonder how they keep their faces warm in the winter? In any event, he is a marvelous host and fed all of us until we were fit to bursting. I hope that Bombur managed to learn some of his recipes because I wouldn’t mind having some of those wonderful meat pies while we’re on the road.

Thorin arrived after we had finished eating and announced that we would be getting no aid from the other dwarf kingdoms. I admit that this saddened me more than a little bit. I would have felt much better about this whole endeavor if we’d had a force of trained soldiers along with us to keep the goblins and orcs away. Fili and Kili have been telling me stories about them and it has kept me up on more than one night since we left Ered Luin. I am sure they are only teasing, but there aren’t so many nocturnal noises inside the mountain – owl screeches and wolves and who knows what else?

I digress.

It looks as though we are going to be on our own. Now our Company numbers fourteen since Mister Baggins agreed to sign Balin’s contract and join on with us. He managed to steal Dwalin’s wallet without any of us noticing, although according to Nori’s theory that would make him a thief rather than a burglar. No matter. I hope to be able to talk to him along the road to Erebor and learn more about his culture and where he learned to be a burglar. For now though, I am full of pie and have a very comfortable bed waiting for me.

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We have been in Rivendell for three days, recovering from our encounter with the trolls and the warg rider who pursued us most of the way here. It was not the most leisurely way to travel, but at least no one was seriously injured. I prefer Bag End to Rivendell – the food was much better and Bilbo was a better host than Elrond or his elves, but since nothing is trying to rip our throats out here I won’t complain. I am sharing a room with my brothers and it has a balcony that overlooks a waterfall and a pool that has all manner of birds and fish in it.

It’s supposed to be peaceful, but it is not the same sort of peace that I am used to and I find myself being a bit louder and more boisterous than I am used to just to make up for the lack of noise in this place. I think that the elves must think we’re very uncultured, but it’s funny to see the faces they make when they see the mess we’ve made wherever we go. Nori has taken to baiting Dwalin quite a lot and Dwalin has smashed more than one piece of furniture trying to catch him. I think Nori finds it good sport, but I’ve had to break them apart more than once already to keep Dwalin from breaking Nori’s nose for something or other. I shudder to think of what might happen if they were left alone. Thankfully Dwalin spends most of his time with Thorin and Nori and Bofur are fast friends, so that keeps them separated for a good portion of the day minus mealtimes.

I don’t particularly wish to write about those meals. Let it suffice to say that the food is terrible and I would have starved to death long before now if it weren’t for the fish that Fili and Kili have been pulling from the ponds and the other meats we had in our packs. How do elves survive on so many greens? It’s no wonder they’re all so slender. Only Bilbo seems happy with our fare, but he seems more like an elf than a dwarrow in that regard.

Speaking of Bilbo, Balin and Bifur had an interesting theory about him that they shared with me earlier. It turns out that the two of them have known each other for some time and the two of them and Dori have been spending most of their time having tea in the library. At least they all seem comfortable, even if the rest of us aren’t enjoying ourselves quite as much.

Balin and Bifur seem to think that Bilbo is a widower who was in love with or married to a dwarrow! I was shocked at the idea since I had never heard of any dwarrow marrying a hobbit before. I would think our cultures and living styles too unalike to promote such a thing, but I suppose that love can overcome a vast array of differences. It certainly explains a lot about him. Sometimes I see him watching everyone around the campfire at night and he smiles very sweetly, like he is remembering something nice. He seems to get along with everyone in the Company very well with the exception of Thorin, so I think that whoever the dwarrow was that he was close to must have been the exact opposite of our leader. Perhaps more like Fili? Any dwarrow that Bilbo could get attached to must have been very handsome and love to laugh, like the hobbit does.

At least Thorin and Bilbo haven’t fought very much since Balin told Thorin his theory about Bilbo’s loss. Up to now they seemed to be at each other’s throats half the time and it was quite stressful to have to witness. Maybe this will help to settle things between them and we can continue on with everyone getting along.

Well, everyone but Nori and Dwalin but even I can’t hope for that sort of miracle. If they haven’t killed each other by the time we make it to Erebor I will be very much amazed.

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So much has happened since my last entry as we were leaving Rivendell that I hardly know where to start. I have limited light since the candle I was lent is running low, so I will be quick.

Rather than traveling over the Misty Mountains, we have made contact with a band of smugglers who have taken over a series of old goblin tunnels running _under_ them. Several of them knew Nori (which did not surprise me at all) and the leader of the whole operation knew the Durins (which surprised everyone). His name is Karhon and he used to be the Royal Jeweler in Erebor. Everyone seemed to be under the impression that he was dead, so it was a very nice reunion for everyone involved in the matter. We have been given rooms, but Nori has instructed us to lock the doors and bar them with whatever we can because although he knows several of the dwarrows here, they are not completely trustworthy. He has gone off somewhere now and has a secret knock so that we know that it is him when he returns. I hope that he doesn’t intend to bother Dwalin right now; it doesn’t seem like the time or the place for it.

I am hopeful that we will be able to turn these dwarrows to our cause and maybe gain their help in the rest of our journey, but Dori says that I am too optimistic by half.

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We are locked in a storage room filled with black powder. I do not know where Bilbo is; I hope he is not dead. Dwalin is knocking down the door even as I write this. The smugglers intended to blow up Erebor and crush Smaug under it and imprisoned us up when we argued. Everything has gone very wrong.

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It has been several days since I last had the breath or the time to write. We have been given shelter in the home of a skin changer named Beorn, who can turn into a bear the size of the mountain trolls we encountered several weeks ago. I think that I would much rather go against the trolls again rather than Beorn. He seems very kind and intelligent, but there is a thinly-veiled air of violence about him. He did not originally want to take us in at all, but Gandalf managed to persuade him to let us in. No wargs or orcs dare to venture too close to his home for it is surrounded by thorny hedges and they fear Beorn’s wrath. He has pinned the pelt of a warg that he caught to the front gate and that seems to deter them as well. Our host may not like us overly much, but at the moment I am far too exhausted and sore to particularly care.

Beorn is a man of the land and it is evident in every place here. The animals are oddly intelligent and I have more than once witnessed his hounds and sheep walking about on their hind legs as they serve us at meal time or bring us freshly-cleaned linens. I appreciate the efforts they are going to in order to make us comfortable, but it is still highly unnerving to witness.

I got a good cut underneath my eye from bandits as we were escaping the mountains. I think it will leave a scar. The entire ordeal ended with quite a lot of fire and blood and is not something I care to think about for any length of time. Let it suffice to say that the smuggler caves are gone now. We had some trouble with bandits and goblins on our way out, but Bilbo appeared just in time and he and Bofur managed to get everyone on their feet again. Even if he can’t do anything about the dragon, I think that he has proved his worth in keeping us all alive so far. I am tempted to give him some of my fourteenth share of the treasure in gratitude. Everyone agrees that Gandalf was very right to suggest that we bring him along, but all Bilbo seems to want to do is nap for several days in a row and not be bothered. His favorite thing to do lately is throw up his hands and shout ‘Dwarves!’ as if he is irritated at our entire race.

I think that I will nap as well. The air here is sweet and it is good to feel safe for a little while. I will miss this place once we decide it is time to depart and once more continue on our way.

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Mirkwood is miserable and is making me feel quite ill. This is the fifth time I have attempted to write in as many days and each time I spill more ink. I am tired of being wet and on guard. I wish we had stayed in the skin changer’s house. It was much better than this terrible, unending forest.

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Because I don’t know where to start with everything that has happened since my last entry, I will start at the beginning and work my way to the end. It is the only sensible thing to do even though my own thoughts are a jumble. I hope that my quill is steadier than the rest of me.

Many days into our journey through Mirkwood, I cannot say which day exactly because I had lost track of the long days and longer nights, we were ambushed by warg riders and split into two groups. It was raining. The others were trapped in a tree with giant spiders at their backs and orcs at their fronts while we were chased about by even more down in the mud. I watched Nori do a somersault right off of Dwalin’s shoulders and stab one of the orcs through the eye right as Dwalin smashed in the warg’s head with his hammer. We couldn’t win though. Azog the Defiler was among our harassers and it was his warg that dragged poor Bilbo right out of the tree and chewed up his foot before the elves appeared and managed to drive them all off. Bilbo managed to kill the white warg with one of the poisoned needles Nori had given him, but then it fell on him and the elves had to pull him out from under it. I was certain that he was dead when I saw how he had been injured – hobbits are not as hearty as dwarrows are. Thorin was particularly upset about this and lashed out so violently that they bound all of our hands as they escorted us to their kingdom, even though most of us were too tired and shocked to bother fighting back.

We were all put into cells and Bilbo was taken away. They kept Thorin away from the rest of us and Thranduil had us all dragged out one by one to ask us all manner of questions about where we were going and why we were there. He is a very tall, proud elf and can be quite tricky when he wants to be, trying to make me slip over my own tongue and say we were going to Erebor. I finally just stopped talking and they put me back in my cell. It wasn’t very big, but I could walk around a little and see some of the others through the bars. It also had a little cot and they brought us fresh food and water. Bofur’s cell was across from mine and he started teaching me a couple of jokes that I can never say in front of Dori. It passed the time, but the monotony was still dreadful.

After two or three days they finally let Balin out of his cell and took him to see Bilbo. We were all greatly cheered to hear that he still lived, though according to Balin he was not well at all and the healer was keeping him sedated. Several of us were allowed to see him, mostly Dori and Balin because they never caused any trouble when they visited. I figured that they would be able to do him more good than I with their visits because they are far more nurturing than I am, so when I was offered the chance to go to him I passed it on to Dori. It isn’t that I am not very fond of Bilbo, but I do not know what I would have said to him.

There was little improvement in our situation for nearly three weeks. Eventually the tension got to Dwalin and he smashed a guard’s face against the bars of his cell when food was brought. They dragged him out and we didn’t see him again. That night Nori slipped between the bars of his cell to see what had become of him. Nori is double-jointed and though I couldn’t see how he contorted himself to squeeze out, Bofur assured me that I didn’t want to and that no dwarf should bend like my brother could. I saw some blood on his clothes where he’d skinned himself when he passed by so I know it must have been a tight squeeze. He came back after a few hours and told us all that they had put Dwalin in another cell further inside the kingdom, but that he was unharmed. Then he put himself back into his cell so that the guards wouldn’t suspect anything. I knew that if Nori could have picked the locks on our cells, he would have already. I heard him cursing about elf locks for the first couple of nights before it was discovered that they could only be opened by the key they matched and not by any lock picks.

It was shortly afterwards that I discovered the secret.    

I do not know why they chose me – perhaps it was because I seem like the mildest of the entire company. The only weapon they confiscated from my when we were taken was my slingshot, though I know that I can heft Dwalin’s great hammer with ease.  I kept that comment to myself as the escorted me to the throne chamber. There I found Bilbo deep in conversation with Thranduil. The hobbit had been given boots to cover his wounded foot and a staff to lean upon and he looked very unhealthy. He did not notice my arrival and I made no move to announce myself, so stunned was I by what I was hearing.

Even as I stood back, I listened to Bilbo spill out the details of our quest to Thranduil, details that we had worked hard not to divulge ourselves. That wasn’t the most shocking part though. He also claimed to be _Yothurur Harâm,_ which I had only read about in a story before now. Rather than being reincarnated like Durin the Deathless, Bilbo told Thranduil that he had perished in one life to be reborn in the past of another – directly before our quest began if I understood correctly. He proceeded to threaten Thranduil with his knowledge of whether or not Smaug lived and managed to secure us better rooms. Only after that did he notice that I was in the room and I don’t think that he was at all pleased to see me. Of course, of he had worked to conceal his secret from the Company for this long, it probably wasn’t good to see all of his work coming undone because I had been unlucky enough to learn about it.    

We were taken to a much nicer room than our original cells, though we were still under guard. I was allowed to stay with Bilbo under the guise of helping him take off his shoes, though he seemed more interested in sleeping than in talking to me or taking off his shoes. Eventually I managed to pull together enough courage to question him about being _Yothurur Harâm_ and he was very kind about answering most of my questions, with the exception of what was to come because I might interfere and cause irreparable damage to whatever he had planned. I did manage to discover that both Dori and Nori were alive when he completed his quest the first time, but Bilbo went out of his way to warn me that it could change this time. I will not let myself dwell upon the possibility that we will come through in any way other than whole. Having a companion who has traveled these roads before has to count for something.

These are the differences that he told me –

Bilbo was not nearly as friendly as he is now. He did not welcome us to his home originally, nor had he had any intention of joining us on our quest.

We were all captured by the trolls rather than running them about in circles and we only escaped being cooked because Bilbo stalled for time until Gandalf arrived and the trolls were turned into stone.

The Company traveled over the Misty Mountains rather than under it and we were all nearly killed by stone giants before being captured by goblins and once again saved by Gandalf.

Once we escaped the mountains, we were all of us chased up trees by Azog and his warg riders and only saved because Gandalf summoned great eagles who plucked us from their grasp and carried us to safety.

It was here that I began to see a reoccurring theme and also when Bilbo fell asleep so I could question him no more. I was escorted to the room that I now shared with Gloin and Oin. I was quite luxurious compared to our cells and I was very happy that Bilbo managed to secure them, even if he had to reveal his knowledge of the dragon to do so. Of course, I still don’t know whether or not Smaug truly lives or what will become of all of us in the end. Something terrible must have happened to have sent Bilbo back. I can only hope that he manages to avoid whatever that was this time. I’ll do my best to help him however I can.

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We are in Lake-town now and a drearier place I have never seen before. The whole place feels one wrong step away from sinking into the icy lake. The boards are all slippery, the houses are drafty, and the people are an unpleasant, suspicious lot. Everything smells like fish and no one is in a good mood.

Bilbo’s plan for getting Thorin out from under Thranduil’s nose involved poisoning our leader and then smuggling him out of the infirmary with the aid of some elves from Lorien. Thorin was not pleased about it and I feel very sorry for the hobbit because he must feel like most of the Company has turned against him now. I try to talk to him when I can slip upstairs but I’ve been scolded by the others three times already for doing so and it’s making me more than a little bit cross as well, though with them rather than Bilbo.

Nori chased off some scouts that followed us from Mirkwood last night. He says that he tussled with them on the roofs and sent them back to their king with black eyes. At first I thought that the elves might have gotten their own blows in as well because my brother was quite mussed, but then I saw Dwalin tucking his shirt back in and I realized what they must have been up to. Obviously I shouldn’t have worried about leaving the two of them alone.

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Smaug lives. He is more terrible than I could have ever dreamed.

Somehow Bilbo has convinced him not to slaughter us when we enter the mountain. He charmed the dragon and I don’t know if it was some sort of hobbit magic or he had a bargaining chip that was worth more than all of our lives. I watched Smaug carry him off and I was certain that he meant to consume our burglar, but Nori and Fili and I met him as he walked back and he only had a single scratch. The two of them know about Bilbo’s secret now too and seem content to stay silent about it for now.

Even though Smaug has gone to ground, I will not pocket a single coin until I know for sure that I won’t be eaten because of it.

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They’ve taken to calling it the Battle of Five Armies or the Battle of Dragon Fire. I favor the second one because that is what stands out in my mind even days after the fighting has finally finished. Every time I close my eyes I see that rain of gold as Smaug stepped over me, so close that I could hear his scales rubbing together. His footsteps are a sound that still echoes inside of me like a drum.

I made it through in better shape than my brothers. Dori is confined to bed with a hole in his lung and Nori has gone off somewhere like a fox that got its leg caught in a trap, except it was his hands that got crushed. I know how much they mean to him and I hope that he comes back soon so that Oin can set them properly.

Gandalf was the one who found Bilbo once all of the ash had settled. I was helping him look because I was one of the last to see him. It took us hours. He was lying just outside the wreck of the gates, almost completely hidden by snow. His lips were blue and his pretty vest was almost entirely red with blood. Gandalf picked him up like a child and I knew he was dead. I didn’t think that wizards wept over anyone, being as old and wise as they are, but I was proved wrong that day.

We buried him the next morning. The ground was almost too hard to dig a proper grave, but all who could put their backs into it and we gave him back to the earth with his hands on his breast and his little sword at his side. We also put in the mithril shirt, since Fili says that Thorin had intended to give it to him. I hope it protects him better in his next life than it did in this one. Gandalf says that hobbits don’t have halls of waiting – they go back to the land and are reborn in flowers and trees and other such wild and sweet things. I hope that he is happy there and I am very sad that I won’t have the chance to meet him again when I go to the Halls. He was a brave and true friend.

Bofur has been talking to no one and when I asked him why, he said that it was just in case Bilbo was hanging about. Apparently he could turn invisible with a magic ring and Bofur caught him at it. We must have buried that ring with him. Bofur wasn’t at the funeral and he says that he talks so much anyway that it can’t hurt to talk a bit more just in case Bilbo is still around to listen. I had to leave then or else I would have wept.

I wish I could have protected him.

I want him to be happy so much. He deserved it more than anybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These aren't all of Ori's journal entries, just some of the more interesting/relevant ones. If I wrote them all they'd be as long as the entire fic and this story wouldn't be done until this time next year!


	66. Requiem for a Wartime King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

It was raining on the mountain.

It fell onto the upturned faces of the purple violets and white daisies. Dandelions and yellow mustard had sprung up all along the slopes of the mountain, where before there had been nothing but ash. There were morning glories climbing on the walls of Dale. Sweet clover and patches of thistle spread out from fallen stones like a bed of green and white and purple blossoms. The rain kept the bees and butterflies hidden, but when the spring storm passed they would return again.

The smell of it crept into the mountain – the smell of wet stone and grass. It was cool. Clean. No longer did the stench of fire or dragon magic hang over Erebor. It had all been washed away, downriver and to the sea. All that remained of it was a memory.   

Fragile parchment pages fluttered as the book was closed and rough hand smoothed across the leather cover. There were no words printed on it since it was little more than a glorified diary, but Thorin had read it so many times over the past weeks that he would have recognized it even in a stack of a thousand other books. The words therein felt like they had been branded into his mind to the point where he couldn’t have forgotten them even if he had wanted to. Each page was precious to him, their value in their truth and their innocent honesty.

“Again?” Shriek asked. She was perched on his knee, which was damp from the wind-tossed rain that occasionally blew into the aviary. It was a magnificent space now – every inch of it gleamed and the rotten perches and befouled nooks where the ravens had sheltered had all be replaced or scrubbed until they shone as brightly as polished marble. Oil-fueled torches crackled in scones along the wall, giving the restored chamber a warmth that even the storm could not diminish.

Thorin let one of his legs dangle over the empty space on the other side of the low wall he was sitting on, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone wall. From here he could see everything – the faint shapes of the men who were still hard at work hauling stone from Erebor to repair Dale despite the downpour, the shadow of Lake-town on the Long Lake, all the way to the edge of Mirkwood which was nearly swallowed up by the haze. In the past three years Erebor had become great once more and her alliances had grown stronger than they had ever been. Under the watchful eyes of her stewards, the mountain prospered. The ravens had returned. The refugees were homeless no more. Azog was dead and the threat of violence that had loomed over them for so long was gone. Smaug slumbered in the treasure chamber, content to let the dwarrows work around him as long as they left him undisturbed. It was a triumph that neither his father nor his grandfather would have ever thought possible.

Seeing his people thrive gave Thorin a joy that he had never felt before, a deep-seated satisfaction. They were safe. They were happy.

And yet…

“No, I’ve had enough.”

Shriek cawed and took off over the edge of the balcony as Thorin rose and shook the water from his cloak, tucking the journal safely under his arm. A few of the other ravens, the younger ones who had not learned that it was better to stay warm and dry, followed after her and they play-fought over a dragonfly one of them had plucked from the rock. Thorin was halfway down the stairs out of the aviary before his raven caught up with him again. She settled on his shoulder, shedding rain water onto his thick fur collar. There was a dragonfly wing hanging out of the side of her beak.

The fresh spring air followed them down the winding stairs. It spoke of life and growing things. All of the glass flowers were gone, ground into dust and the only evidence that they’d ever been were the burns that still decorated Thorin’s hands from all of his failed attempts at creating them. Now the side of the mountain and the grave that graced it had disappeared under a sea of wildflowers in every hue imaginable, brighter and lovelier than anything he could have ever made. It seemed ridiculous that he could have ever thought to try. The world was laughing and it was laughing in flowers.

Someone was playing a viol on the battlements, one of the guards on the afternoon rotation. It was a sweet, simple song about love in the springtime. Gold may have flown from the gates and the forges may have been rekindled, but there was music in the mountain now and that spoke more of the state of Erebor than any amount of wealth.

“Is good?” Shriek asked from his shoulder, turning her head so that she could keep listening to the music as they descended.

“It is,” Thorin agreed. It was everything he had ever wanted. His crown was perched upon his brow, his people thrived in their rightful home, and there was music. It had been paid for with blood, sweat, and lives, but in the end it was all worth it. Or rather, it should have been. There was a hollow place under his breastbone, one that would not be filled by any amount of music or cheer. His smiles were a mask he kept in place with increasingly fragile threads and he knew they didn’t reach his eyes. More and more lately he looked in the mirror and saw his father staring back at him – tired and half-broken by grief.

Dis was in her study and she looked up at him with raised eyebrows when he walked in and shut the door behind him. Shriek fluttered to the top of her desk, which was a single carved piece of green marble. Even the drawers blended in seamlessly. The top was half hidden until stacks of books and rolls of parchment, but Dis still found a piece of crisp under it all and offered it to Shriek.

“This is an honor, _Nadad_. Usually I only see you here once a week and surely you were by just three days ago? Unless I’ve lost track of the date, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. These papers would drive anyone to drink. Well,” she added with a smile, “drink more.” 

“Peace Dis, your mind is as sharp as ever.” Thorin groaned as he lowered himself into the chair across from his younger sister, sliding Ori’s journal underneath the seat. She looked every inch a queen – a silver circlet rested on her dark hair, set with sapphires as large as the pad of his thumb. She had traded in her heavy furs for a lighter spring wardrobe, with delicate embroidery around the high collar and sleeves of her black dress. Although her legs were hidden underneath her desk, Thorin knew that she would be wearing the open-fronted style that she had always favored, with loose pants and heavy boots underneath.

Erebor had been good to Dis and she had been good to it in return.

Quite often it was Dis who organized meetings with Bard or Thranduil to discuss their ongoing trade. She had no qualms about speaking with the elves and had even made friends with a few of them. Thorin had caught her drinking with them more than once, laughing over which councilmember looked more like a potato or whether or not it was socially acceptable to hide giant spider corpses under people’s beds. Thorin may not have liked how close Dis had grown with the elves, but he could not begrudge her any happiness. Their lives had been lean for many years before they had formed Ered Luin into something worthy. She’d had few reasons to laugh then and yet somehow she had always managed it. Now, even surrounded by wealthy and luxury, he couldn’t find it in himself to do the same.

Dis scratched at the ruff of feathers around Shriek’s neck and settled back in her own seat. “I’m certainly glad to hear it, though you’ll have to forgive me if I take it with a grain of salt, coming from my forgetful older brother. Dain was ranting to me just yesterday about the number of council meetings you’ve managed to escape from by using some excuse or other, or simply hiding until he ran out of time to look for you.”

“He doesn’t like to climb the aviary stairs,” Thorin replied. He clucked his tongue and Shriek came clattering across the desk back to his side and climbed onto his leg, making soft scolding noises at him. She was good at that.

“Few do.” Dis pulled out one of the heavy drawers of her desk and removed a silver flask from one of them. She passed it across to him and he took it gratefully. “Do you really detest them that much? I would have thought you’d be happy to have a hand in what was going on in your kingdom, _Nadad_.”

“Having a hand is one thing. Sitting still for hours on end listening to greedy old fools bicker is another entirely.” The whiskey hit his tongue with all the subtlety of a silk-clad razor.

“Because they bicker, we don’t get cheated in the markets. We have farmers coming at the end of the year, men and elves and even a couple of Halflings to till the land around the mountain because those old fools bicker, Thorin. You may not like to listen to them, but you can’t deny that they get things done.”

“I know. I know, Dis. But I can’t – it’s not what I thought it was going to be,” he sighed, sinking lower.

“Life isn’t all battle and glory.” Dis accepted the flask back from him and took a pull. “For which I am eternally grateful. I would much rather be stuck here doing paperwork than worrying about whether or not I would ever see my children again. I much prefer living in peace, even if I have to get wrapped up in the politics of it all. You,” she tipped the flask at him, “never had the patience for it.”

“Why do you think I made you Queen of Ered Luin rather than take the crown myself?”

“I always figured you were saving your virgin brow for Erebor’s crown, but these days it’s like trying to craft with clouds to get you to wear it.”

“It’s heavy.”

“All crowns are heavy, Thorin. It doesn’t matter whether they’re made of mithril or dreams.”

Thorin sighed and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “Sometimes I wake up and wish that it was all a dream after all. Do you remember when we lived in that cabin, Dis? On the mountainside? Vili hunted and I worked as blacksmiths in the town…”

“And every day you’d come home smelling like hot iron,” Dis finished, picking up her quill and turning it slowly between her fingers. “Fili was so proud the day you let him come with you the first time.”

“We showed him how to make horseshoe nails. He brought all of the ones that weren’t entirely straight home and spilled them all over the floor.”

“Kili still has one, you know,” Dis said as she scrawled her name at the bottom of a piece of parchment. “He keeps it in his pocket. He’s lost all the rest, but that last one…I don’t think even Fili knows he still has it. He was even prouder than his brother.” Dis smiled, but it was sad. “I remember – I remember him picking up handfuls of those nails and dumping them in my lap. They ruined the shirt I’d been trying to mend with all of the coal dust that was still on them. ‘Look mama,’ he kept saying. ‘Look what Fee made, aren’t they amazing?’ I’ve never seen anyone so impressed by horseshoe nails.”

“He would have made a fine smith,” Thorin said softly. “He always had a sense for knowing when something was of good quality.”

“He still does,” Dis said as she rolling up the parchment and set it aside. “I’m very proud of my sons, whether they spend their time making nails or fighting orcs. As long as they’re happy, I will be happy for them.”

“As am I.”

Dis inclined her head. “So tell me, when was the last time you saw either of them?”

Surely it had been recently? Thorin’s mind raced, trying to remember when he had last spoken to either of his nephews. It was rare for them to eat as a family now since Dis was quite often wrapped up in dealing with matters in Ered Luin and he preferred solitude to being given pitying looks across the dinner table. He remembered talking to Kili in passing and mentioning how well his burns were healing, but how long ago had that been? He’d seen them both sparring in one of the training rings – Fili was as solid as stone now. His leg kept him from doing any sort of complicated footwork, but he’d been training with some of the more experienced soldiers and they had shown him how to make his attacker come to him rather than the other way around.

“I don’t recall,” he answered, ashamed. They had stopped seeking out his company some time ago, tired of being turned away.

Dis watched him silently and Thorin felt an ember of dread spring to life in his belly.

“ _Namad_ , what happened? Where are they?” He came to his feet and Shriek called him a bad name as she scrambled back to the safety of Dis’ desk. “ _Where are they, Dis?”_  

“Gone.”

“What do you mean gone?” He asked in disbelief.

“I mean they’re gone! For two weeks they’ve been gone, Thorin!” Dis slammed her fist down on the top of her desk and papers flew to the floor. “And you were too wrapped up in your own head and your all-consuming grief to notice! Your nephews, Thorin! Your heirs! _My sons are gone!_ ”

This had to be a nightmare. There was no other explanation for it. His temper stirred like a dragon rolling over in its sleep and he took a deep breath to keep it buried. Dis had been nothing but a lifeline over the past few years and the last thing he wanted to do was turn her against him. They’d fought before – she’d loosened one of his teeth with a well-aimed punch once, but this was a grave matter that he was positive wouldn’t be solved by kicking over her heavy desk (though it might have made him feel better). “Explain, please. And start with why you waited for two weeks before you told me that my nephews were missing.”

“Because I kept waiting for you to ask where they were. I promised them three days to get as far from Erebor as they could with no pursuit and by now I expect they’re three hundred miles away.” Dis picked up the upset flask from her desktop and screwed the lid back onto it. “You never asked though, and I’ve been swallowing the urge to tell you. Sit down, Thorin. It’s far past time for you to pull your head out from under the rock you’ve been hiding it under.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Suit yourself. About a month ago, my sons came to me seeking my council. That’s not something they do very often – they like to think that they’re too old and worldly to need their mother’s advice any more. Do you know what they asked?”

“You know I do not.”

“They asked if there was any way to abdicate their right to inherit the throne.”

“They what?” Thorin asked in shock.

Dis leaned forward across her desk. “You heard me aright. Those boys were raised on stories of gold and glory and adventure, Thorin. You puffed them up on them until they were as zealous as you were to reclaim Erebor. Did you ever stop to ask them if they wanted to rule it though?”

“I assumed – “ He started, but trailed off, unable to find the right words.

“You assumed,” Dis repeated. “You assumed that they wanted the same thing that you did because they’re Durins. We didn’t _raise_ them to be princes, Thorin. They didn’t get to see Thror rule like you did. They weren’t dressed in silks or rocked in golden cradles. They weren’t chased away like we were.” Dis covered her face for a moment and then reached up and took off her circlet, turning it over and over between her hands. “Horseshoe nails. My sons were born in a cabin and taught to craft and hunt. They came home every evening with buckets full of frogs or splinters in their hands from climbing trees after squirrels. Was life ever such a grand adventure for us, _Nadad_?”

No. Before Smaug came he’d been groomed to inherit the throne after Thror passed on. He hadn’t expected to have it until he was well into his two hundreds since Thrain had been strong and capable, but his schooling for it had started young. He’d stood at his grandfather’s side while he met with visiting dignitaries and accompanied Thrain to council meetings where treasure was traded as quickly as rushing water, used to purchase goods and cement alliances. He had been raised knowing that he would one day sit on the throne of Erebor.

“All they ever wanted was to make you proud,” Dis said. “They went with you hoping for a chance to prove themselves to you in some glorious battle and you repaid them by looking right through them as soon as the mountain was yours. You don’t _smile_ any more, Thorin. When you would eat with us I would watch the two of them talk for hours about anything to try to get a reaction from you and half of the time you weren’t even listening!”

“So they’ve run away to get my attention? They have it now.” And so help him, he would take one of Dain’s boars and chase them down if he had to. There was no telling what could happen to two young dwarrows out wandering the wilds. They were accomplished fighters, but neither one of them was in what he would consider fighting-shape with their lingering injuries.

“Thorin! If you’re thinking about chasing them down, get the idea out of your thick head. They’re _gone_ Thorin, and if they come back in the next hundred years I’ll be very surprised. Have you looked in a mirror recently? I don’t know whether it’s your loss or gold sickness or stress, but you look like a nightmare in royal garb. Fili told me that he’s afraid of that happening to him next and Kili has no head for politics. He’s very much Vili’s son in that regard.”

“So I’m just supposed to let them walk off without knowing where they’re going or if they’re safe?”

“I sent a raven with them,” Dis said dismissively. “And the captain from Mirkwood accompanied them as well, Tauriel. Thranduil thought it would be best to send her to keep an eye on them and they both requested her specifically. I love my sons more than my own heart, but left to their own devices for two long would either see them in jail or in a ditch along the side of the road.”

Two dwarrows, a raven, and an elf. It was like the beginning of a very bad joke and he wasn’t laughing.

Thorin slowly sat back in his chair, though he stayed perched on the very edge of it. “That’s why I have to go get them. So that they _don’t_ end up in a ditch. Dis, why would you let them go like this? They have a responsibility, the same as you and I.”

“No Thorin, _you_ have a responsibility. Mine has been and will always be to my children. You gave me Ered Luin and I look after that to the best of my ability, but my first loyalty is to the happiness of my family.” Her eyes were as sharp as a shard of blue glass. “You refuse to be happy, but that doesn’t mean you need to drag my sons into your miserable cycle too. You can’t go after them, Thorin. They’re dead.”

“ _What?_ You said that they’d left with that elf – “

“Check any book in the mountain, with the exception of that one under your chair.” Dis settled her crown back on her brow. “Every one of them will tell you that Fili and Kili died in the Battle of Five Armies. There’s no way to renounce the crown of Erebor. Believe me, I looked for one. The only way to pass it on is to die, so to the council and anyone of any importance, my sons are dead and I will wear mourning black for ten years. Look in the catacombs and you’ll find their names carved into one of the tombs. Even in death they’ll rest together.”   

“But the tomb is empty?” Thorin asked, suddenly desperate for reassurance that his nephews hadn’t truly died.

“Of course, though no one will say so.”

Relief washed through him and Thorin sagged back, the fight running out of him with a speed that left him dizzy. He was heirless, his nephews had gone off to who-knew-where with an elf, but they were alive and, according to Dis, they were happy. He would be selfish to try to take that away from them now. His sister was right – he had never checked to see if Fili would willingly be King once he had passed on to the Halls or if Kili could handle the responsibility of being a prince. All their lives all they had known was the wilderness around the cabin and then the twisting, damp tunnels of Ered Luin. Even when Dis had been Queen it had been nearly impossible to make them sit still for more than an hour. It was laughable to think they had ever tried.

“Dis…” He sighed, his head falling forward until his chin rested on his chest.

“Yes?”

“Can we go home now?”

His sister laughed, but it was hollow. “This _is_ home now, _Nadad_. You made sure of that.”

__________________________________

_All crowns are heavy. It doesn’t matter whether they’re made of mithril or dreams._

Thorin rolled over in bed and stared at the crown resting on the table next to him. It was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, made especially for him by five of the most skilled metal smiths in the kingdom. It had sweeping wings branching off of a front piece that mimicked the shape of the Arkenstone. He hadn’t wanted something so large and ostentatious, but Dain had insisted that he needed something that commanded respect. Every new king had their own crown crafted for them and they were buried with it when their time came. They hadn’t been able to get all of the blood off of Thror’s before they burned his body in front the gates of Khazad-dûm. Thrain had never had the chance to wear one.

Thorin didn’t want the one he had.

_The only way to pass it on is to die._

That had never been an option to him, not even when he had sunk so deeply in his despair that no light had been able to reach him. They were the dwarrows of Erebor. They were strong and he’d always had to be the strongest of them all. An example to his people. Even when his legs shook under him he’d had to keep walking. When there was no one at his side he refused to say that he was lonely. Sickness could not touch him, nor exhaustion. Not until he was alone did he let himself finally be so weary that he could feel it in his bones.

Besides, what peace did death hold for him? It was a coward’s escape and it wasn’t as though Bilbo would be waiting for him there to give him comfort. It said in Ori’s journal that the hobbits went back to the land rather than to any sort of afterlife.

“Would you hate me for what I did to you?” Thorin asked the dark room.

It didn’t answer. It never did.

Somehow along the way everything had gone all wrong. He had it all – Erebor, the throne, a safe home for his people – but it didn’t make him happy.

“I was never meant to be a king,” he told his crown. “I realize that now. They were all right…” He smiled bitterly. “I’m too suspicious. Too secretive. I hold grudges and I don’t let them go easily.”

He’d led his people when they were homeless wanderers, but that had been out of pure necessity. He’d led them to victory in battle when Thror fell, but even then too many had died. He’d done his best to build them a new life in Ered Luin, but many of them had still gone hungry or died in mine tunnels that collapsed far too often.

He was a good leader in times of crisis, but that didn’t make him a good king.

“Dain is a better king than I could ever be,” he said to the crown. “The Iron Hills flourish under his rule and he doesn’t even live there anymore.” Most of his cousin’s time had been taken up by putting Erebor back in working order. Dain knew how to rule in times of peace – how to handle treaties and complaints and paperwork. All of the things that grated on Thorin he seemed to handle with ease and that was where he knew his shortcomings were. He may have been a hero in battle, but when it came to ruling in peace? That was something he knew nothing about and didn’t think he had the strength to learn.

With Fili and Kili gone, Dain was the next logical choice to inherit the throne. Dis would never take it. She had Ered Luin to look after and had no interest in trying to take care of two kingdoms. Dain would be good for Erebor.

“He’ll be a better king than I could ever be,” Thorin mumbled as he rolled over. It was what was best for everyone. Let ‘King Thorin’ die in the mines or write him out of the last three years of history as had been done with his nephews. Bury his wretched crown in an empty tomb so that a new one could be crafted for Dain. He would just be ‘Thorin’ again and he could go wandering. Perhaps he would travel west again and retrace the path the company had taken. Dwalin and Dunin would go with him and it would be like old times.

Maybe he could learn to be happy again, without the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.

The next time he opened his eyes he was not in bed.

A dark, vast emptiness spread around him on all sides and no lights were visible in its depths; only darker shadows still that slunk about at the corners of his vision.

“Where am I?” He shouted. His own voice echoed back at him. He tightened his hands into fists and then gasped in pain. In one of his hands there was a withered, dry rose stem. There were no petals left on it, but its thorns shone red with his blood.

_“You are in the space between Dreams and Death.”_

Thorin turned quickly, cradling the rose stem protectively to his chest. There were two figures there, and to him they seemed as large as twin mountains. One clad in the darkest black and the other in blinding white.

_“You have righted history at last, Child of Stone. Now step forward and know your reward.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what that reward could be...


	67. The Dragon's Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

He dreamed, as he had never done before.

Although it could have been argued that Thorin hadn’t been born with a tactful bone in his body, even he knew that it wasn’t a wise idea to start shouting or demanding answers from the two beings that were looking down at him. If ever there was a proper time to keep his mouth shut and swallow his questions, it was now. This wasn’t a true dream – never before had they been this vivid. One of the thorns of his dead rose stem dug into his thumb, but he held it all the tighter grateful for the grounding pain.

 _“You should be congratulated, my love,”_ said the white figure. Her voice was deep and rich like dark earth. _“I would have thought that your child would arrive and promptly begun shouting and demanding answers, given his extensive history of doing just that. It appears I would have been mistaken. You made him more grace than I anticipated.”_

 _“You would have been,”_ said the one in black. Thorin could feel his voice in the very core of his being and it made his legs tremble _. “He shows much better manners than your melekûn. I can’t recall the last time I was shouted at like that.”_

_“Oh, I recall it quite vividly…”_

_“Surely because you were the one shouting, Nanginguh. You are, as always, cruel to me.”_

_“I’ll show you how cruel I can be later.”_

_“Promises, promises.”_

Even though he had a feeling that he already knew the answer, Thorin stepped forward and lent voice to his question all the same. “Who are you?” He called up to the giants, infusing his voice with as much strength as befitted a king. Only afterward he had spoken did he remember that he had already promised to renounce his crown. Here he was simply ‘Thorin’, king of nothing but the skill of his own two hands.

Both turned to regard him, their heads bent together. Thorin couldn’t help but notice that the one clad in white was much taller than the one in black, towering over him by at least three hands.

 _“You know the answer to that already, Thorin of Durin’s line. I can see it in you. But your family always did believe in what they could see or touch.”_ The figure in black laughed as he reached up and undid the clasp that held his cloak in place. It vanished as if it had never been, but for a moment Thorin thought that he wore it still. So dark was the giant’s skin that it looked as though he had been carved from a mammoth piece of the purest obsidian. A vein of gold ran across his face, tracing over a hooked nose and a hard mouth and his eyes gleamed like coins in shifting shades of copper and gold. Every strand of wild hair on his head and in his full, braided beard was a strand of mithril or silver.

“Mahal,” Thorin said softly, knowing that he was looking upon the face of his creator.

 _“And my lovely wife,”_ Mahal agreed, lifting his hand so that his companion could place hers in it. When Yavanna’s cloak vanished, Thorin was able to look upon her too.

She was much taller than her husband, thanks in part to a pair of elegant white antlers that branched up from her forehead. Strands of dew-decorated spider webs and pieces of moss hung from them and then disappeared into her riot of curling chocolate hair that was interwoven with vines and flowers the likes of which Thorin had never seen in any book. Bees and butterflies drifted around her, drawn to the scent of ambrosia and fruit that wafted from her. She was soft and lush in every way that a Valar of nature should be, completely bare in comparison to her husband’s intricate armor. Her skin gleamed chocolate and golden freckles kissed her face and shoulders and the generous curve of her belly. She smiled down at him with wine-red lips.

 _“You have acted with wisdom befitting a true king,”_ she said and Thorin finally remembered himself and fell to one knee, his head bent in supplication. _“There are few who have ruled who have been able to see that that the best thing for their people and their kingdom is to be led by another. Had you pushed yourself to see your reign through to the end, Erebor would have suffered for it. Under Dain it will flourish as it has never done before and will be remembered for eons to come as one of the pinnacles of Dwarrow culture and society, even when it has passed on to the pages of history.”_

“Your words give me comfort,” Thorin said, his eyes still on the dark floor beneath him. One of Yavanna’s bees drifted lazily by and Thorin realized with a start that it was the size of a troll. It has looked no larger than a normal bee when it had been circling Yavanna’s antlers.

 _“Cold comfort.”_ Mahal kissed the back of his wife’s hand. _“Giving up a kingdom is never done lightly. You’ve lost much, Thorin. Some might not have had the strength to endure what you have – war, heartbreak, and now you’ve lived to see your nephews leave your side and your mountain fall into the hands of another.”_

“Dain will be a better king than I could have been. In the last years he’s done much to aid Erebor’s recovery, despite the fact that he only acted as her steward.” He climbed back to his feet. “He cares for my people as much as I do, but he has the means and the knowledge to lead them to a better place. As I…As I could not.”

 _“You could have, given the proper circumstances,”_ said Yavanna. _“In another life, in a hundred lives, you were a good and wise king. In this one? There was never the chance that you could have been. You were cursed by your choices and the fates of those around you that became entwined with your own and eventually led to this end. For your story in this life to finish properly, Dain must rule Erebor and lead her people on to overcome their tragedy and hardships. He will be the one to lead them to war when evil rises again and emerge victorious.”_

Yavanna turned and waved her hand a split opened in the darkness, flooding the dream realm with light. Through the split Thorin could see Erebor, her slopes stained red by the setting sun. Smoke billowed around the mountain, framing it against the bloody sky and even from where he stood her could hears the screams of the dying and sharp snap as catapults were fired. It was s scene of chaos and destruction. It shifted and he saw Dain there, all of his hair gone gray and white as he fought back to back with a men in the overrun city of Dale, his red axe dripping with ichor.

“What battle is this?” Thorin asked in horror.

 _“This is what will come to Erebor, with time. There is no way to circumvent it – it is a fixed point in time. Your cousin will fight with King Brand and fall there, hailed by all as a hero and a warrior, but not before ensuring that Erebor and her people will survive to see a new and peaceful dawn. If you had stood in your place as you are now, Erebor would have fallen and evil would have triumphed.”_ Yavanna closed her hand and the tear vanished. “ _This is the nature of time. It can be changed. Stretched. Meddled with in small ways, but some things must never be changed. Sauron, Morgoth’s greatest and most trusted servant, must be vanquished and to that end does all of time flow. It is not the end, simply a point in time not unlike a bend in a river. But all water must take that turn lest it flood over and taint all.”_

 _“Your nature metaphors don’t convey as well to dwarrows, Nanginguh ,”_ said Mahal. “ _They need solid examples._ _Look at it like this.”_ He knelt and beckoned Thorin closer. His gauntleted hand uncurled and in it there was a book, no larger than a normal book. It was smaller than a fleck of dust on Mahal’s great palm and Thorin carefully took it. It was thick and bound in leather. “ _That is your life. Every word you’ve spoken, breath you’ve taken, thought you’ve had in your most private moments. Everything that is ‘you’ is in that book.”_

Suddenly Thorin wished very hard that he wasn’t holding it. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to read such a tome, to see his flaws laid out in words. “And does everyone have such a book?”

 _“Everyone has a book. Some have a thousand. As many books as they’ve had lives. You see, there are some very special folk who want to change how their book ends. Your_ _melekûn was one of them. When his ended, he read it and found the end unsatisfying.”_

Bilbo. Bilbo was the one who had changed his book.

“How many books did he have?” Thorin asked and Mahal laughed. A small book appeared next to Thorin’s leg. Another stacked on top of it, and then a third. They appeared and kept appearing until he was buried up to his waist in them and they spilled over in stacks, spreading out and out like a wave in every direction.

_“As many as you, if not more! In some he never goes to Erebor. In some ‘he’ is a ‘she’. In some he dies, in some he lives. In some he has magic. Sometimes he loves you. Sometimes he doesn’t love anyone. In some he loves another.”_

With every idea, Yavanna opened up a new rip behind Mahal and Thorin caught a glimpse of what could have been, or what was in another lifetime. Each only lasted a mere moment but in them he saw entire worlds that he could have never dreamed of.

 _“Every time something is different, another book is created. The same goes for you. You never lived all of your books, but they are still ‘you’ for all that they are different. It was this one – “_ Mahal gestured and a book floated up to the top of the pile, “ _that your_ _melekûn came from. He was not even originally from your story.”_

It was a green book. Its spine was paper and it was very tattered at the corner. On the cover of it there was a green hill painted with a little hobbit smoking on a bench out front. A wizard clad in gray was coming down the path around the corner. Underneath the picture was printed ‘The Hobbit’.

Thorin carefully tucked the rose stem into his pocket before he opened it and flipped to the last page. There he read aloud:

“An ancient hobbit lay in a soft bed below them. His eyes were closed and there was a slight breeze coming in through the open window that made his thin white curls shift slightly. The sheets lifted with each shallow breath and Bilbo realized that he was looking down at himself and that he was dying. There was a pale cast to his features that showed that he was not much longer for this world. Outside, Frodo sat in the garden the elves had given them, a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other.  A smile made his face light up as he turned the page and there was an inner peace about him that helped to settle Bilbo’s fretful heart. His nephew would be happy here and maybe with time the pain of his wounds, the ones on his heart especially, would vanish. Perhaps he would miss his uncle, but that was such a small thing that it hardly seemed to matter now.

_“Change is a fickle thing. Remember this in your journey, Bilbo Baggins, and perhaps you will be able to alter history after all.”_

The hobbit in the bed took its last breath and was still.”

“You took him?” Thorin asked. “From this book after he had died and put him in mine instead?”

 _“In a manner of speaking,”_ Yavanna agreed. “ _Your quest was doomed from the start in your story. It was a small thing, but if you had taken Bilbo as he was in your story, your quest would have failed and Erebor would have never been reclaimed. It seemed minor, but without Dain ruling and Smaug either dead or docile, Sauron’s forces would have ruled the north and he would have been victorious in his quest to conquer all of Middle Earth.”_

 _“Smaug surviving was a rare fluke,”_ Mahal added. “ _But it was done in such a way that there is nothing for Sauron to tempt him with to join the forces of darkness. Smaug is an old creature and he has a comfortable nest now. Why would he default when he already has everything he ever wanted?”_

Yavanna nodded. _“So you see, rather than shutting a book that would have flooded over the banks of the river, we simply added another element that would help see it through to its proper end. Bilbo Baggins finished his story and wished for more. Your story was doomed to be destroyed lest even that small piece of Morgoth’s evil flourish. It was a small mater to help him move between lives and give him the chance to save this version of history.”_

Not only had Bilbo saved his life and the lives of his nephews – it seemed he’d managed to save their entire world as well. It was a humbling thought.

“I treated him ill,” Thorin said softly.

 _“You did,”_ Mahal agreed. _“But to his mind, it was nothing he did not deserve for deceiving you.”_

“He didn’t deserve any of it!” Thorin said vehemently. “He should have been protected! If I had known – if I hadn’t been so blind – “

 _“He said something similar,”_ said Yavanna and again a tear opened and through it Thorin could see Bilbo. It was a version of him that he had never met before – old and stooped with his hair gone white and his eyes milky.

_“I was a fool of a hobbit and I hid my head in the sand so that I would not see! Don’t try to tell me that I did everything I could have, because I didn’t! I was too lost in my books and my own grief to care and now I can’t help but think about all of the good I could have done if I had just opened my eyes a little bit wider!”_

The tear closed and Thorin had to stop himself from reaching out for it. It was only a vision, but even that had been enough to rip open raw wounds on his heart. That was a version of Bilbo he would never get to see or hold. They wouldn’t laugh or fight or eat breakfast together in the morning.

“Are you doing this to make me suffer more than I already have? I’ve given up everything I have and still I bleed!”

 _“Through that suffering you’ve come close to touching his. If you’ve been looking for penance, this would be a good start,”_ Mahal said gently. _“What is a crown to a life?”_

Nothing. If giving up his crown meant that he could have had Bilbo back or even hold him for just a moment and tell him that he was sorry, Thorin would have thrown the damn thing away in a heartbeat. He shook his head, knowing it was a futile hope. The Valar may have had the power to move folk between lives, but any Bilbo they gave him would not be rightly _his._ He wouldn’t be the Bilbo who had summoned a dragon to save those he loved. He might have the same smile, but Thorin knew that he could never settle for anything less than the brave hobbit he’d come to love. He would rather be left alone to mourn than take a substitute.

“I don’t have a crown to pay for that life now.” He looked up at the Valar, his hand curling back around the rose stem in his pocket. “I’m not a coward – I won’t take my own life to be with him. He doesn’t deserve that when he gave so much to save it. But when my time has come, would you take me wherever he is?”

 _“Hobbits go to the land,”_ Yavanna said softly. _“They are my cherished children and always come back to me. You won’t find him in your halls, Child of Stone.”_

“Then take me to the land instead! The Halls of Waiting are already filled with heroes enough to rebuild Arda. You don’t need one more set to do that work. If I can’t be with him in life, let me be with him in death.”

Yavanna and Mahal exchanged a look.

 _“You’ve done right by giving up your crown, Thorin. Because you did that, your story will go on. You showed wisdom beyond your years and we will grant you a boon. But we cannot,”_ Mahal said quickly, holding up a hand to stop Thorin’s instant reply, _“bring back your_ _melekûn. We have the power yes, but his spirit is scattered and he will not return. He has gone beyond our reach.”_

“So you can’t bring him back?”

 _“We cannot make Bilbo Baggins live again. He would not agree to it,”_ Yavanna said. _“We will not force one who has lived through so much already to do so again. To him, he has fulfilled his purpose and now his reward is to pass on quietly_.”

“Is there any way for me to tell him that I’m sorry?” Thorin asked plaintively. “He needs to know that I never – I want to thank him,” he amended. “He doesn’t need to know that I’m sorry. Being sorry won’t change anything. I want to thank him for my life and my nephew’s lives and for continuing on even when there was no one to stand with him.”

_“Will that be enough?”_

“It will have to be.”

 _“And what then?”_ Mahal waved his hand and the piles of books vanished.

Thorin shrugged. “I’ll live the best way that I know how and try to show that I honor the life he saved.”

The Smith smiled. _“Good answer. You’ll be allowed to speak your part, but know that the road to that end will not be a simple one. The hobbit rejects our magic and we cannot put his spirit back together again without his consent. Even now he has almost completely gone and there is little left tethering him to the person he once was. You’ll have to find your own magic to put him back together.”_

“But I have no magic!” Thorin protested. “No dwarrow does!”

 _“No, but you have others around you with power of their own that they might be convinced to lend you,”_ said Yavanna. _“It takes a powerful magic to revive a spirit even temporarily, but if you can find it you may be able to find your beloved in this realm and pass on your thanks to him.”_

“If that’s what it takes; I’ll find a way,” he said, trying to sound confident.

 _“Good. The next time you sleep we will return you here. Know this though, Child of Stone,”_ Yavanna warned him. _“We cannot be with you when you search for him. He knows our power and hides from us and will no doubt try to escape from you as well. He remembers your wrath. If you ever want to find him, you will have only this one chance. Let it slip through your fingers and your boon will have been wasted and you will never see him again.”_

“How will I know where to look for him?” Thorin called up to her. Already he could feel the first strands of wakefulness tugging at his body, dragging him back to the world of the living.

 _“You’ve had your talisman with you all this time. Put it back together and you’ll put_ your _melekûn back together with it,”_ Mahal said and then Thorin was gone.

Yavanna’s hand came to rest on his broad shoulder, her soft fingers combing through his mithril hair. _“Are you certain that we shouldn’t have told him?”_

The Smith shook his head. _“No. He’s too single-minded and that would have made him push too hard. Bilbo must live for this story to finish as it should – no one else can raise Frodo to be strong enough to bear the Ring. If he knew that he was the only one who could tempt the hobbit back to the world of the living…”_

 _“So let us hope that they figure it out themselves,”_ Yavanna said as she rested her cheek on top of her husband’s head. _“It would pain me to end such a lovely story when so much work has already gone into making it a true one.”_

_“You’ve always had a weakness for love stories, Nanginguh.”_

_“And you like ones with battle and dragons, my dove. I think with this one we can both be satisfied.”_

_“That we can. Let’s just hope our children can be as well.”_

__________________________________

“Gandalf, a word?”

The wizard looked up from the parchment he’d been pouring over, his bushy eyebrows raised. The table before him was buried in scrolls and books had been piled nine high, nearly hiding him from view. If it hadn’t been for the pointy hat perched on top of one of the stacks and the smell of pipe smoke, Thorin might have never found him. The only space that wasn’t occupied by literature was the little square where a generous goblet of wine rested.

“If you must, but I suggest you choose it wisely if you are only allowing yourself one.”

Thorin kept his instant burst of irritation to himself. Gandalf has always done and said exactly as he pleased and neither war nor high water would ever change that. He spoke to kings and commoners exactly alike and blew smoke at them all. The last thing he wanted to do was put a wall between himself and the wizard when he needed something so desperately from him. It had been more than a year before Gandalf had come wandering back from wherever he’d gone off to with Beorn and he still disappeared quite often, but he always seemed to find his way back again to speak with Dis about matters in Ered Luin or to visit Bilbo’s grave. Even once he had begun spending more time in Erebor, he rarely spoke directly to Thorin. Thorin had a feeling that Gandalf blamed him at least in part for Bilbo’s death, though it couldn’t have been more than he blamed himself.

“More than one,” he amended. “I had a…vision of sorts last night.”

“A vision?” Gandalf repeated, lowering his parchment. “I didn’t think you were prone to such flights of fancy, Thorin. Tell me of your vision.”

“I was visited by Mahal and Yavanna. They were as large as mountains and showed me many versions of history that I had never thought of before. Mahal showed them to me as books and Yavanna opened up windows in this dream realm and let me see what had come to be and what was yet to happen. They told me that they would grant me a boon – “

“A boon?” Gandalf asked. “Visions of the Valar are not to be taken lightly and they are rarely false. Are you certain it was not merely a dream?”

“I have never dreamed so vividly, if that is indeed what it was. I revisit the same places time and again when I close my eyes and I had not been here before. They spoke to me as if I was awake and even now I remember it all like a memory rather than a fading scene of my imagination.”

Gandalf slowly nodded. “And what did you do that would move them to grant you anything?”

“Righted history, if they are to be believed.” Thorin leaned his hip against the side of the stone table and sighed. “I am not a good king. Don’t argue with me on that. I think that I could have been a great one like my grandfather was if not for…if not for many things. I’m still not immune to the gold sickness for all the Smaug’s spell has washed off of it. I hate that dragon with every fiber of my being and that’s something that I will never be able to let go of. I’m suspicious and I can be cruel when my temper grips me.”

“All true. You’ve certainly been doing some soul searching as of late.”

“If I had known it would lead to what it has, I would have done so long before now.” It wasn’t that admitting to softer feelings went against his nature, but the ones that he’d been avoiding had been anything but soft. They cut like knives and it was a pain that he had only just recently learned to endure without shying away.

“And that end would be…?” Gandalf waved his pipe in a circle, motioning for Thorin to continue and wreathing them both in smoke.  

“Redemption. In return for passing my title on to Dain, I’ve been given a chance to my apologies and thanks on to the one who deserves them the most.”

“You mean Bilbo.”

“I do. Mahal and Yavanna spoke to me and said that if I can gather a magic in the waking world, I can find him wherever his spirit has gone and speak to him there. I can’t – if this is the best that I can have, I plan to take it. Gandalf, please lend me your magic so that I can put his spirit back together again.”

Gandalf stared at him for a while and then slowly slipped the end of his long pipe back into his mouth, puffing on it contemplatively. His old, wise eyes wandered away from Thorin and up to the high shelves that were stacked up to the top of the cavernous old library. Half of them were too delicate for anyone but the most experienced librarians to handle or else they would simply crumble into dust.

“I do have magic,” the wizard finally said. “Simple spells and some larger and more destructive ones that I do not use lightly. However that power is not one that I can pass along, nor would I for this purpose. It may not be so easy for you to move on, Thorin, but I believe that Bilbo is in a better place now and that he won’t appreciate being roused by you.”

“I don’t care if all he does is shout at me and pull on my hair. I’ll get to see him one more time and say what I have to. _Please,_ Gandalf,” he said, feeling increasingly desperate. Gandalf was the only one he knew of with anything that came close to the magic he would need to find Bilbo in that dark place, and it looked as though the wizard wasn’t at all interested in aiding him on this, his final quest.

Gandalf raised his hand to cut off further pleas. “I told you – even if I wanted to, I could not. Mine is not a magic that can be shared. It stems from my being and it is impossible to store or pass along for temporary use without casting a spell on you. Even then I’m not positive it would be strong enough to do what you hope to. I am sorry, Thorin, but I cannot help you in this. If you need magic to continue on, you’ll have to seek it out elsewhere.”

“Where else am I supposed to find it? I don’t have any more wizards wandering about in the mountain to go and beg!”

Gandalf looked at him from under his heavy eyebrows. “No, you don’t,” he said slowly. “But unless I’m very much mistaken, you do have a dragon living in your treasure chamber.”  

__________________________________

 _‘Beautygleamcovetgreed’_ the gold whispered at him as he walked along the path that had been cleared through the high mountains of it. Even now, three years after Erebor had been reclaimed the scribes and accountants of the mountain had barely made a dent in cataloguing or organizing it. It still resembled a dragon’s hoard more than a proper treasury and there was at least one resident of the mountain who preferred it that way. Thorin would have rather had it all locked safely away behind heavily guarded vaults where no one save the treasurers could access it and where he would never have to lay an eye on it again. Somewhere buried far beneath these mountains were Vris’ golden beads. Dis’ rattle with sapphires on the handle. The royal jewels that Thrain had donned on formal occasions.

His very history lay next to him and he wanted none of it.

They were things. Things could be replaced or melted down to make something new. Too late had he realized that the worth of a life was far more valuable than anything he could have carried with him out of this chamber. Gold wouldn’t bring his nephews back. Gems wouldn’t help him atone for his crimes, real or imagined. He left them to lie and felt no need to collect any of them.

Instead he sought their master.   

No guards patrolled here – they weren’t needed this far in. Anyone who ventured this deeply into the treasury took their lives into their own hands because this was where the dragon slumbered. Only once or twice a year did Smaug rouse himself, and only one time two weeks ago had he ventured outside of the chamber. He had flown away for nearly a week and returned fatter than ever with blood-stained teeth. Balin had hastily assured them all that he was positive it was orc blood, but it had been a long time until anyone had been brave enough to venture anywhere near Smaug again. No thief was foolish enough to risk such a horrific death if they woke the dragon, so everyone but the extremely foolhardy (like Nori) stayed well away.

The enormous tail lying across the path in front of him when he rounded a corner gave him some clue as to which way to go. Even the smallest of Smaug’s scales was larger than a dinner plate and the spines protruding from the top of the appendage looked long and sharp enough to skewer a troll. The stink of dragon was obvious now, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it would have been before. Maybe it was the lack of corrupted magic tainting the treasure, but to Thorin Smaug smelled like hot sand and metal and a little bit like rotten meat.

He had to step off the path to follow the tail towards its thicker end, and then climb up and over a hazardously piled mountain of treasure that it disappeared under. He found Smaug on the other side, spread out in front of him and half-buried in gold like a crocodile in a river. Only his nose and eyes and the long line of his spine were visible – even his wings were completely submerged except for the finger-like tips. A thin line of smoke trailed up from his nostrils and once in a while it was cut off as Smaug took a deep breath, making coins rattle and slide off his sides. Just what was wedged between his scales and crusted to his belly would have been enough to rebuild Dale five times over. Had Thorin been inclined to study him longer, he might have said that Smaug was beautiful to look upon. As it was, he felt only thinly veiled disgust and hatred for the dragon. That was something that no amount of time or introspection would banish. Too many lives had been lost to his fire for Thorin to consider him anything more than a necessary evil.

Carefully he picked his way down the other side of the golden hill, making sure to make enough noise that Smaug was sure to hear him coming. Startling a dragon was not at all wise, but he had a feeling that his noisy arrival was not entirely necessary. Smaug should have smelled him coming.

He was proved right when he came up alongside Smaug’s head. The dragon was watching him, one eye cracked open just enough that Thorin could see a sliver of orange and a sharp black pupil that tracked him as he walked.

“Smaug,” he said shortly.

A thin membrane passed back and forth across the dragon’s eye in a reptilian blink. It was all the acknowledgement he got since Smaug made no move to raise his head above the treasure to vocalize a greeting. Either Thorin was beneath Smaug’s dignity to speak to or the dragon was simply very comfortable where he was, like a cat basking in the sun.

“I – “ He broke off, not sure where to start. Faced with that evil eye he found himself at a loss for words and he had to fight to keep down memories of fire and the phantom stench of burning flesh out of his nose. “I’m going to leave the mountain. Forever. Dain will rule it in my place, though I think he was doing that already. I did my part in helping reclaim it, but I can’t rule in peace. Not with…” He waved back at Smaug’s body.

A sound filled the air, so deep that it was more of a feeling than something that could be heard. The coins around them jumped and bounced around and it took a minute of this for Thorin to realize that Smaug was laughing at him.

“I’m sure you’re happy with your victory,” he snapped. “Because my defeat is complete now. I have no crown, no throne, and no one to be by my side to keep the years from stretching on endlessly.”

The eye narrowed at that and Smaug’s mirth cut off abruptly. Treasure spilled off of the dragon’s head as he lifted it just enough so that his sharp chin was cradled rather than buried and opened his mouth wide, letting loose a blast of hot air.

Thorin took a step back despite himself, but Smaug still did not speak. The only sound that issued between his jaws was a soft _churr-_ ing that didn’t sound like it could come from a dragon of such size. Thorin sloshed his way through the treasure to get a better look Smaug’s gullet. Had he trapped some hapless thief down there? The dragon wasn’t talking, but his open mouth prompted Thorin to grip one of his fangs and lean around it to see what was down there.

Three pairs of wide eyes looked back at him, two of them golden and one gleaming white. They glowed in the dim light of Smaug’s mouth and the _churr_ -ing grew even louder.

“What?” Thorin asked dumbly and stepped back as three dragon hatchling the size of full-grown wargs charged out of Smaug’s open mouth and rolled into the treasure.

Smaug sighed with relief and licked his fangs. “They were chewing on my tongue.”

“I don’t understand,” Thorin said, staring at the hatchlings. Two of them resembled Smaug – their front limbs were under formed fingers with a thin membrane stretched between each finger that would one day become full wings. The third had no wings and walked on four legs and that one was ice-white with small ridges going down both sides of its back. They had no spines that Thorin could see and their claws were blunt, but as they snapped and hissed at each other and fought over whatever piece of finery caught their eye, he could see several rows of needle-sharp teeth.

“My daughters,” Smaug rumbled. “They hatched not more than a moon ago.”

“ _Daughters!_ You have _children!”_

“Do you think I would have taken your wretched mountain for any other reason? I am Smaug the Magnificent. I had my own hoard long before I seized yours, but it was destroyed and I was forced to take Erebor or else risk losing what remained of my mate’s brood. You are not the only one who has known loss, Oakenshield. My Scatha. Three of my children. All dead. You think you know pain?” One of Smaug’s claws surfaced and he used it to gently separate the two fire drakes that had begun to snap at each other. “I know it ten times worse. I would have spent centuries with Scatha, but she was killed by the greed of dwarves and men. My hatred for your kind matches that you hold for me, but still I let you live to repay my debt.”   

“What debt?” Thorin watched with fascination as the ice drake waddled over to Smaug on fat baby legs and snagged what looked like a piece of well-charred meat out from between his teeth. That must have been why he had gone hunting recently – to feed his hatchlings. Perhaps sensing their sibling’s attention had wandered to tastier things than gold, the two fire drakes plodded over and started to squeal at Smaug, demanding their father’s attention. Smaug grumbled back at them wordlessly and they shrieked with delight.

“What debt?” Thorin asked again, more loudly. One of the fire drakes seemed to remember that he was there and plodded over unsteadily, her golden eyes enormous and curious. Up closer he could see that it had no scales, just soft leathery hide that a few gold coins had already begun to stick to. Behind her the other two hatchlings squabbled over a piece of meat that Smaug had regurgitated for them. “Get back,” Thorin said to it, but it obviously didn’t understand a word. “Don’t they speak?” He called to Smaug. “Tell it to leave me be.”

“They are only two weeks out of their eggs. Do dwarves start speaking at such a soft age? I think not.” Smaug asked, but he caught the little drake between two of his claws and deposited her back with her siblings before she could test her teeth on Thorin. “They will learn with time, as I did and as their mother did.”  

Baby dragons in Erebor. Dain was going to have a _fit_ when he found out that Thorin had not only left him the crown, but three dragon hatchlings to deal with as well. Thorin couldn’t keep his smirk to himself at the thought of his cousin’s future distress. Dain needed to be kept in fighting shape and these hatchlings and their teeth would be good for that.

“The debt I owed to the Summer Creature,” Smaug said. “He bargained for your lives and in return he gave me everything. I tasted no lie when he told me of my death in another life. Without me there to warm my eggs and keep them fed once they hatched, my children would not have survived. He promised me gold, the mountain, and a statue – all things that were not his to give. All he asked was that I lie down and let you walk over me when you entered. I gave you your puny lives and in return?” The dragon tilted his head a little so that he could keep an eye on his daughters as they cracked open bones to get at the marrow. “To have them - it was not a terrible price to pay.”

“Did Bilbo know about your eggs?”

“Yes. He seemed…pleased by them. He called them beautiful.”

“Of course he did.” If he had known about Smaug’s eggs, Bilbo would have moved the entire mountain to keep them safe. From the way he’d talked about his nephew, Thorin knew that Bilbo had had a weakness for children.

“You didn’t come here to tell me that you were leaving, Oakenshield. What brought you to me? One last look at the monster that stole your mountain so that your rage can keep you warm at night?”

“I came for your power,” Thorin said bluntly.

“My power?” It was Smaug’s turn to sound astonished.

“Yes. I spoke to the Valar in a dream and they instructed me to find a source of power so that I can find Bilbo’s spirit in the afterlife. I need to speak to him once more before I can let him go.” The hope that he might see Bilbo again flickered at the admittance that it would not be a permanent reunion. “I asked Gandalf to lend me his first, but he said that his was not the kind that can be shared.” He looked over at Smaug. “If I had any other options, I would not be here. I chafe at the thought of asking you for anything.”

“So you seek redemption,” Smaug drawled. “Do you think yourself worthy of it?”

“Never. Nothing I do or say can make this right, but I can try to help him rest easier knowing that I – that his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

“How very noble of you. You’ve come to beg your greatest living enemy for the chance to see your love one last time. It’s enough to make me gag.”

Thorin knew he was being baited, but he refused to rise to it. “I’ll beg if I have to. I only have this one chance and if I don’t _try_ I’ll spend the rest of my days wishing that I had. What can I give you that will move you? I have nothing.” He pushed his hands into his pockets to show that they were empty, but then he reached up to his breast pocket and reached inside for what he knew rested there. “Only this,” he said, drawing it out to show the dragon.

The Consort’s Ring.

Smaug sniffed dismissively. “A trinket of sentimental value.”

“It’s all I have and I’m giving it to you! Take it!” The emerald ring bounced off of a goblet and clattered away into the hoard as Thorin threw it down. One of the drakes left off her meal and chased after it like a toy, but it was already lost among the other treasures. “And now I truly have nothing. No children, no legacy, nothing. My people think my grief has driven me mad and most of my family has fled from me. You may know worse pain than I, but you have your daughters. I…” His throat convulsed and cut off any further words.

“You have nothing. You _are_ nothing,” Smaug finished. “To me you are even less than nothing. You are not entertaining, your conversation is lacking, and your hatred quashes any sort of wit you might have had otherwise. To be short, I find you a bore. But,” he added as he lifted up his head on his long neck so that he could look down his nose at Thorin, “I still owe a debt. What I gained is far greater than what I paid and I dislike owing anything, especially those who are dead and cannot collect on it. I will not give up my power for you, Oakenshield. Know that it is only for the Summer Creature.”

“I don’t want it,” Thorin said quickly. “And I wouldn’t take it if you offered it to me. I only need it to find him.”  

“Hmm,” Smaug grumbled. Thorin was forced to scramble out of the way as the dragon rose from his bed of gold, sending waves of it crashing down. The hatchlings all squealed and leapt at the falling coins, falling over each other and rolling around, unaware of the grave matters going on around them. Smaug began to root in the gold that he had been sleeping in, digging with his spade-like head and using his claws to pull away tons of treasure until –

“Ah. Let this be the vessel for your faith, Oakenshield.” Smaug’s claws extended towards him and held delicately between them was a horribly familiar gem.

“The Arkenstone,” Thorin breathed reverently. “You had it. It’s been underneath you all this time.”

If the gold had whispered to him, the song of the Arkenstone was a symphony. It sang carnal pleasure and lightning into his mind, making his vision waver until there was hardly anything left but its gleaming, multihued facets. _This_ was what he’d been searching for until the gold sickness had eaten him alive. _This_ was what had driven his grandfather to the edge of insanity and now he knew why. It may not have had any sort of arcane magic about it, but the Arkenstone was seductive in its pure perfection. It was a rainbow given form and it called to his very being, begging him to take it from Smaug and hide it away where no one could look at it but him. It wanted to be his. He was meant to be its only owner and he reached out –

 _Please don't leave me._ _Don't pull away before I'm ready to let you go…_

Thorin came back to himself as quickly as if someone had dumped ice melt on his head and wrenched his hand away from the accursed jewel.

Smaug laughed and pushed it close to him again. “Don’t you want it? Perhaps you’re more amusing than I originally thought. Watching you grapple with your own selfish nature…”

“It isn’t for me,” Thorin said through gritted teeth. “It’s for him. If I must carry that gem to get to him, then I will. But I will not keep it for myself, no matter how it calls to me.” And oh, did it call.

“That will be your test, won’t it? And if you fail, I will delight in watching your descent into madness. Now go, before I change my mind.” The dragon’s claws tightened and the Arkenstone shot at Thorin with the force of a punch. It slammed into his chest and he caught it with both hands. It was as hot as if it had been lying in a bed of coals.

“And the magic?” He shouted after Smaug as the dragon turned back to his children.

Smaug’s crest flared as he looked back over his shoulder. “I have been lying on that rock for nearly two hundred years. If it hasn’t soaked up enough to put together something as small as your Summer Creature, no magic in this land will bring him back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters to go! There's one last battle before that happy ending and it's with Bilbo himself. How do you find a hobbit who doesn't want to be found? It's going to take a little magic, a little luck, and a lot of love.


	68. The Lantern and the Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: Mention of Major Character Death, Emotional Pain

_“You have done well.”_

“I wish there had been another way. I didn’t want this. Not anymore.” Thorin looked down at the Arkenstone. It remained clutched in his right hand even in the dream realm. He had been loath to hold it for too long but he had also been afraid that it would not travel with him to the dream if he didn’t keep it close. From Smaug’s treasure chamber all the way back to his own quarters, he had carried it as if it was a black powder bomb with a lit fuse. The whole way it had sung to him, whispered to him, picked away at his resolve with crystalline claws that were far too sharp to hold out against forever.

The dwarrows he passed had stared after him with fear and awe. Even half-hidden by his hand, the Arkenstone emitted an unearthly glow, throwing off rainbows in the darkest places.

“ _The King has found the Arkenstone_ ,” they whispered. “ _He took it from the dragon and will return it to its rightful place_.”

If only they had known why he really carried it.

Thorin turned the jewel slowly over and over against his palm. Even in this shadowed place it shone like a beacon, refracting light that was not that. It was warm, almost hot against his skin but he wouldn’t let it go or try to hide it away. The Valar had told him to find magic and found it he had, but at what price? Would his sanity give out before he found Bilbo and, if it did, would it break him in the living world as well? Dis would never forgive him for taking this risk, but it was one he knew that he had to move forward with or risk living in regret for the rest of his life. The chance to see Bilbo again was worth carrying the dragon-tainted jewel with him into the dark.

 _“Whatever choices were available to you, you went through with this one. Wishing it was different won’t make it so,”_ Yavanna said, reaching up to brush a curl away from her eyes. Mahal stood next to her and her hand rested on her husband’s broad shoulder. “ _Your life is defined by your choices and learning to live with them is what teaches you humility and resilience. Are you prepared to move on, knowing what you’ve done and what it has made you?”_

“I am,” Thorin said resolutely. He had to steel himself. In comparison to some, his loss was relatively minor. After all, his successes should have so far outweighed any tragedy that it should have been easy for him to move forward into the future. Somehow that wasn’t the case though. Dwalin had lost his eyes and the whole company had lost a friend when Bilbo died. He was not alone in his suffering, but somehow he had been unable to ever open up to anyone about it. It was like there had been a lock around his heart that no one had the key to, not even Dis, and it had slowly been squeezing it until it was just a ghost of its former self. His nephews were gone, off to live their own lives rather than live in the shadow of an uncle who could not move on. His sister ruled Ered Luin like a true Durin, untouched by madness or greed. Her eyes were clear, as was her path forward. His had become lost to the shadows that swirled around his feet even now. “What must I do?” He asked the Valar, tilting his head back to better see their faces.

 _“You will have your talismans,”_ Mahal said, his low voice resonating in Thorin’s bones _. “We will help you take the first step, but after that you must find your own way. Give me the Arkenstone.”_ The giant Valar crouched down and extended his hand. Though it almost hurt him to do so, Thorin stepped forward and tossed the jewel onto the expansive palm. It almost vanished there, turning into a pin prick of light against Mahal’s obsidian skin. The Valar’s finger closed around it and a silent shock wave ripped through the realm, like something immensely heavy had been dropped and made the very air tremble with its weight.

It was still the Arkenstone when Mahal handed it back to him, but it had been altered by the Valar’s will. Now the stone hung suspended by golden wires on the inside of an ornate lantern with a thick ring through the top that Thorin used to hold it up. The columns of the lantern were tiny dragons that twined up each of the sides and made a cage of scales around the gem. Their eyes were tiny rubies and seemed to look back at him.

“ _Use it,”_ Mahal said, “ _to find your way through the dark. Don’t trust it though,”_ he warned. _“I may have caged it but that won’t stop its effect on you. It is greedy. It wants into your head and in this place its magic will be even more seductive. It will try to lead you astray with whisperings or visions.”_

 _“You mustn’t let it. If you turn away it is very possible that your quarry will escape you. We cannot go with you for he will know us, but you may have a chance if you don’t look back. Give me the rose.”_ Yavanna leaned over and held out her hand as her husband had done, but this time Thorin did not move forward to give up the dead stem whose thorns pricked at the fingers of his left hand.

“I…cannot,” he said. “I do not know why it is so precious to me, but it is tied to me and I cannot make myself let go. I would not want to, even if I could.” It was little more than a stick with ripping thorns, but he would have rather dropped the Arkenstone in its golden lantern and watched it shatter than release it. “My apologies,” he said belatedly, ducking his head in case he had somehow offended the Valar with his inability to let go.

He felt rather than saw the two giants smile. _“Peace, Child of Stone. If you had given it up I would have doubted your ability to complete the task that lies before you. That rose is all that remains of your beloved’s spirit and you have been carrying it with you for some time, unwilling to release it to the land even though the rest of him has long since scattered and become flowers and fruit. To give it life again will be to find him, and I have the first part of that journey here.”_ Yavanna brought a hand to her breast and from there she pulled something so small that Thorin could not see it until she offered it to him.

A single rose petal, as rich and dark as heart’s blood.

_“If you take it, we will not be able to stay with you and our protection from the darkness will fade. Are you prepared to face it alone?”_

“I am,” said Thorin.

 _“Do not look back,”_ said Mahal. _“Do not stray, do not lose yourself or you may lose him.”_

Thorin nodded, not trusting his voice, as he reached for the rose petal balanced on Yavanna’s fingertip.

The moment he touched it the Valar both vanished, their radiant light going out as if they had been candle flames. The darkness came rushing in on him, cold and dark and heavy as the sea itself. It swallowed him up and he felt thrown here and there even though he knew that his boots never left the ground. The lantern in his hands flared without warning and the shadows seemed to halt, wary of its fiery brightness. Flames leaked out of the thing, spawned by the light of the Arkenstone and Thorin could see sparks drifting out of the mouths of the tiny dragons. The pressure became bearable and the cold didn’t seem to reach as deeply into his bones, but at the same time he was compelled to simply sit down and stare into the heart of the lantern. It was warm. It was safe. It would help him forget –

_“Bilbo, it’s time for supper!”_

_“Yes mama!”_

Thorin jerked as if he’d been slapped and stared as a fauntling no taller than his leg dashed by. He was as quick as a fox and Thorin’s legs moved without conscious thought as he ran after him. The child climbed over an invisible fence and dashed around obstacles that Thorin could not see. If they were truly real, they did not stop him nor did he feel any sign of them as he ran straight through them in an effort to catch up with the phantom.

“Bilbo, wait!” He called after the child, but there was no reply nor did the fauntling slow. Thorin realized that he was chasing a memory as the young Bilbo ran up what had to be the steps to the front door of Bag End and halted there, panting.

 _“What were you doing out there, my darling?”_ Asked a soft voice, full of laughter. Thorin saw the child’s curls bend as they were stroked by an invisible hand and a couple of fireflies drifted out of them and were lost to the dark.

_“I was lookin’ for elves! Papa says they like to hide in trees so I climbed up one but there was nothin’ but squirrels up there. I saw a deer though, with huge antlers!”_

_“A prince of the forest, perhaps? Maybe he was an elf that had been turned into a deer and was looking to kidnap a precious fauntlings like you to spirit away to his kingdom for three years and a day!”_ The fauntling shrieked and danced in place as his belly and sides were tickled

_“Stop it mama! Stoooop!”_

_“It’s a good thing he didn’t take you, or else you couldn’t have your father’s roast chicken and carrots for supper.”_

_“I like chicken an’ carrots!”_

_“I know you do, my love. Now come in and wash up and when we’re finished eating you can show me were you saw the deer.”_

Bilbo nodded eagerly and moved forward, but he paused there for a moment and looked over his shoulder back at Thorin, his little brow furrowed as if he had only just noticed the stranger standing behind him. Then he dissolved into golden light and a red petal drifted down where he had been standing. As carefully as he could, Thorin leaned down and picked it up. It nestled in against the first petal that Yavanna had given him, affixed to the end of the withered rose stem. They trembled in a ghostly wind and he held it close against his chest as if he could protect it from the dark that wanted to pluck them away again.

_Do not look back…_

“So I must go forward,” Thorin said to himself. A spark from the dragon’s lantern drifted by his face and seemed to drift off in front of him. With no other sign to follow or visible path to tread, he started after it.

After what seemed like an eternity, he heard another voice.

_“Come here lad; let’s get that blood off you.”_

Up ahead Thorin could see Bilbo again, but this time he was older – caught somewhere in those middle years where children seem to be all hands and feet and awkward angles. He was thin though. Too thin, and ghostly pale. There was gauntness to his face and his clothes fit poorly, sagging around slender hips and thin shoulders. There was blood on his hands and another invisible ghost seemed to be turning them over to check for injury.

 _“Did any of them bite you?”_ It asked.

Bilbo shook his head. _“I killed them,”_ the tween whispered. _“There were three of them just out front and I thought for sure that I was going to die, but I killed them with a kitchen knife when they tried to get in. Mister Grigory, my da – he’s sick. He’s got that rattling cough – “_ Bilbo started frantically, but his hands were squeezed and he fell silent.

_“Aye, as does half the Shire. As if this winter weren’t bad enough with the wolves comin’ in, folk have to be getting’ ill as well. Let me help you drag those monsters in before the bodies attract even more and then we’ll see what’s to be done about your da. Where’s Belladonna, Bilbo? Where’s your mum?”_

_“She went out,”_ Bilbo whispered. _“Three days ago. She said she was going to find help and she hasn’t come back…”_

_“Ah. Don’t worry, she’ll be alright. I’m sure of it. Now come on, lend a hand and we’ll get those wolves in and the wife will come by and skin ‘em up nice for another blanket for your da. A’right? Bilbo?”_

_“Alright. Thank you, Mister Grigory.”_

This time when Bilbo glanced at Thorin his eyes were full of desperation. Then he too dissolved into golden sparks and Thorin collected the rose petal left behind, his heart aching for the boy who had lost his innocence to the monsters on his front step. 

With the third petal secured to the rose stem, Thorin moved off again. He would see this through to the end, no matter what sort of visions were shown to him.

_“ – and may we see them in the growing things, in the spring and summer flowers and the autumn harvest though they are not here to enjoy them with us. So we return.”_

_“So we return,”_ intoned the voices of many, from a ghostly audience. Thorin didn’t turn around to look for them, since he knew he would find nothing. His eyes were fixed on the lonely figure standing ahead of him. 

_“Belladonna, Bungo, you will be missed.”_

_“Please don’t leave me alone,”_ Bilbo whispered to the ground in front of him. _“What am I supposed to do now, Mama? Da? I can’t – I can’t do this alone. Please don’t l-leave me…”_

 _“Bilbo?”_ Asked another ghost. _“What happened?”_

Bilbo sniffed hard and rubbed his nose with his sleeve. He was still far too thin. _“T-The rangers found her on the road. I think she was trying to find that wizard she said she traveled with. To get h-help. Da…he never recovered from the cough. He died not long after we got the news that she’d been – been – “_

The tween looked up at Thorin this time, his face distorted by misery. _“Why?”_ He asked, his voice thick. _“Why do I have to be alone?”_

“I’m here, _âzyungâluh_. I’m trying to find you!” Thorin said, reaching out to the memory, but all he caught was the rose petal as it drifted down and the heartbroken tween disappeared. “I _will_ find you _,”_ he said firmly as he tucked it in with its fellows, tenderly brushing them with a finger. He wouldn’t leave Bilbo alone in this dark place.

He didn’t know how long he followed the trail of memories. Maybe for days. Years. Time had no meaning in a place like this and his feet were never slowed by weariness nor did hunger or thirst gnaw at him. He simply existed and his only purpose was to search, following the sparks from the dragon lantern to the next memory. In this fashion he watched as Bilbo grew older and steadily more jaded by life until he seemed to forget that he was lonely. He grew satisfied with being alone, moving about in a house that was far too large for only him and surrounded by his books, thinking he was happy.

Everywhere he went, every important moment, Thorin was there watching. Each time the memory seemed to grow a little bit more aware of him, and for the first couple of petals it almost seemed as though he was treating Thorin as a stranger who just happened to be passing by. They made eye contact, sometimes he spoke, but most of the time he simply turned away and dissolved into firefly lights. Each time Thorin’s heart contracted painfully, as if it only remembered to beat after the fact. It was horrible, going through Bilbo’s life like this and seeing his most private moments without being able to step in and lend a hand where it was needed, or to say what desperately needed to be said.

_I’m here._

_I won’t leave you alone._

_Please just be strong a little longer._

_Everything will be alright._

_“Good morning!”_ Said Bilbo, who was sitting on a shadowed bench, puffing away on his long pipe.

 _“What do you mean?”_ Asked the voice of Gandalf. _“Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”_

 _“All of them at once,”_ replied Bilbo, looking a little bit befuddled.

And there, somehow, was where it all changed.

 _"Gandalf!"_ Thorin jumped and nearly dropped his lantern when a mirror image appeared next to the original Bilbo. They were dressed exactly alike and both held pipes, but the second one looked decidedly less amused. _"Don't tell me that you've died as well? What a grim afterlife this is turning out to be."_  He said, and Thorin realized that he was witnessing the moment when Bilbo had begun his second life. Two memories had overlapped in this moment in time and he was witnessing both of them.

_"Died? I should think not! We wizards are quite long lasting. If you're under the impression that you've departed this world, I should think that you've been smoking a bit more than just regular pipe weed. Though I must admit, I'm quite pleased to find that you remember me. I haven't been in this part of the Shire in a number of years."_

_“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure – “_

_"Smoking too much? Don't be ridiculous, this is just tobacco. But how can you be here if wizards are supposed to live forever? Last time I saw you, you were speaking with Elrond in - in - wait a minute, what day is it?"_

_“Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!”_

_"I am better than I've been in more than eighty years. Now tell me why you are here!"_

_"I was simply looking for someone to share in an adventure.”_

_“We don’t want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water. Good morning!”_

_"That's what I thought…”_

For all that the voices spoke over each other terribly, Thorin still managed to follow most of the dual conversations. It was painfully obvious that originally Bilbo had not been at all inclined to leave his comfortable home or his books, and the second time he’d been in shock judging by the fact that he had fainted right off of his bench. Thorin crouched down next to that Bilbo tried to help him up, even though he knew his hand would pass right through the memory. That was when Bilbo opened his eyes just a little bit to look up at him.

_“It wasn’t just for you, you know.”_

He vanished before Thorin could do more than open his mouth.

The rose was almost half-full of red petals now and a hint of green had begun to creep up the stem. A whiff of sweetness rose from it, a relief after the cold nothingness of the deathly realm. The only problem now, Thorin noticed as he stood, was that the lantern he clutched in his right hand didn’t seem to like the half-living rose in his left. When it had been nothing more than a twig the Arkenstone had been content to leave it be, but now the tiny metal dragons seemed to be actively spitting sparks at the fragile petals. Still it led him onwards, but now he had to hold it far ahead of him to keep it from turning on his flower and setting it alight. These were two contrasting magics – one was a dragon’s corruption and the other was the stuff that souls themselves were made of.

 _It is greedy…_ Mahal’s voice said in the back of his mind. The Arkenstone did not want to share. Its siren song had been dulled by the thrill of discovery Thorin had experienced while gather together the wisps of Bilbo’s life, but now he became more aware of it, aware that even while he searched in the dark, the lantern’s light had been bathing him in its warmth. In its power. He noticed again the whispers in his head, the light and the beauty that it displayed behind his eyelids the second he closed his eyes.

With the Arkenstone singing ‘ _we are light we are magic we are right we are power’_ in his brain, Thorin watched the Company crash the humble home of Bilbo Baggins. Once they were greeted with alarm and suspicion, once with good humor and food. He saw Bilbo break down more than once; crying by himself as his old friends poured into his home and he had to play dumb to all that he knew was coming.

 _“Thorin,”_ whispered Bilbo.

Thorin stepped forward eagerly, thinking that perhaps the memory spoke to him, but his own voice answered from somewhere to his left.

_“It seems you’ve heard of me, Master Hobbit. I’ve not had the pleasure of your name though.”_

_“Y-Your nephews told me about you.”_

_“It’s good that they’ve arrived already, else I would have to go out and look for them in the dark and I wouldn’t relish the task at all. They have a habit of getting into trouble where it shouldn’t be possible to find any.”_

_“Yes, I know.”_

Thorin gave a bark of laughter so that he would not choke on his own sob. He’d been a fool, blinded by his own sorrow and ambition. How had he not seen what lay so obviously in front of him the entire time? Bilbo had always been a terrible liar – it was a miracle he’d made it as far as he had without revealing his secret to everyone.

_“You don’t belong here.”_

It took him a minute to realize that the memory was speaking to him directly.

“Yes, I do,” he told it.

Bilbo shook his head, looking both sad and irritated. _“You really don’t. Go home, King Under the Mountain.”_

“Not until I find you!” Thorin shouted after him, but the rose petal fell and landed on the toe of his boot. He leaned over to scoop it up, tempted to give it a pinch for being ornery, but he knew it would be beneath him to do so. He wanted to tempt Bilbo back to him, not drive him further away with his temper.

 _“Thorin?”_ Asked a voice and the dwarrow froze in place, ice flooding through his veins and chasing away any warmth that might have remained. That wasn’t Bilbo. It wasn’t any memory he had expected to find in this terrible place.

“You aren’t real,” he whispered, his icy lips barely moving to form the words. “You’re dead.”

_“Well, let’s be fair – so is the hobbit and you’re still yelling at him. How long did you yell at me, Brother? You know, after you burned me? I bet you used all sorts of colorful words after that.”_

“I never shouted at you,” Thorin said, squeezing his eyes shut so that he wouldn’t turn. He couldn’t turn. “Never.”

_“No, you just turned into a bitter old man. Well done, Thorin. Amad would be so proud.”_

“You aren’t him!” Thorin snarled. “Don’t speak with his voice and pretend that you know anything!”

 _“This is the realm of the dead, Thorin,”_ Frerin’s cheerful voice said laughingly. _“Where else would I be but here to bother you?”_

“You would be in the Halls with the rest of our family. Frerin wouldn’t come to this place to torment me when I have so much to lose.”

_“No? Not even if I missed my older brother desperately enough to make the trip? Come on Thorin, spare me a moment. How many years has it been?”_

“Too many,” he whispered, opening his eyes again. Forward. He had to move forward no matter what. The lantern’s glow flickered as if it was laughing at him. “I will not turn. You cannot make me with your mockery of true life,” he told it. “Banish it or I will smash you here and now and find the way myself.”

The light in the tiny dragon’s eyes faded slightly and Thorin didn’t hear Frerin’s voice behind him again. Mahal had been right about the jewel trying to lead him astray and he wondered what would have happened if he had turned to see his long-dead brother. Would there have been anything there at all, or had the Arkenstone plucked a memory from his head and breathed life into it, giving Frerin his old form and smile once more? If he thought about it for too long Thorin knew that the ‘what-ifs’ would drive him into a depression that would make him lose his way as quickly as if had turned to see the phantom Frerin. His brother was dead. He had long since come to terms with that. But it wasn’t Frerin he was here to find, or any of his other family members. No shadow that the Arkenstone made of them would make him pause again.

There were no sparks or voices to lead him to the next vision. Bilbo was simply sitting there, his arms wrapped around his knees, the light from an unseen fire dancing across his face as he watched someone. As Thorin approached, the hobbit looked over to watch him.

_“You’re very hard to love, you know.”_

Thorin stood next to him, keeping the lantern well away in case it tried to lash out at the spirit. “I know, but I came hoping you were willing to try for a little bit longer.”

_“I’ve tried for a long time, Thorin. For a while I thought that I had succeeded.”_

“You did,” Thorin whispered. “You did, I’m coming.”

Bilbo gave him a disbelieving look before he became another rose petal and Thorin was left following after the drifting sparks from his lantern.

So it continued.

In this manner Thorin hunted down Bilbo’s precious memories. Through both lives he hunted them down and saw things that he had never known about, aspects of the quest that he had never witnessed happen because now he was seeing them through Bilbo’s eyes. These were trials that spoke of homesickness and heartbreak in equal measure. As one Bilbo found his bravery and the strength to move forward, the other grew more and more afraid of his ties to the past. It consumed him sometimes and Thorin wept with him when he was alone, wept for the pain his brave hobbit had suffered in the name of doing what he thought was right. Bilbo thought that he was fixing things because it was _his_ fault that things hadn’t gone as well as they could have. He blamed himself and that was what broke Thorin’s heart.

“Why can’t you see that it was my fault? My own?” He cried as he watched Bilbo weeping at his funeral, as he was laid to rest by Fili and Kili. “I was the one who should have been wiser, not you! Never you!”

 _“If not me, who else?”_ Bilbo had asked him and Thorin howled with grief as that vision too fled from him.

He did not wish to see what happened next, but at the same time he could not keep from moving forward. He had to see it through no matter what. There was a flip side to this grim scene and although it had hurt to have to watch as Bilbo wept over their tombs, at least he hadn’t had to see the bodies. In the hobbit’s second life….

_“You smell of blood, Summer Creature.”_

Smaug’s voice resonated through the darkness and the lantern danced and shook in Thorin’s hand with a life of its own, recognizing the source of the magic that fueled it.

 _“It isn’t all mine.”_ Bilbo stood ahead of him, looking small and fierce despite the paleness that had begun to creep into his face. Blood was splashed liberally across his front – dark goblin ichor. That which soaked the side of his waistcoat however, was as red as Thorin’s rose and he knew instantly that it was the wound that had felled Bilbo. Would he have lived long enough to have a healer stitch it up or cauterize it if he hadn’t run to the dragon rather than Oin? His detour had cost him minutes he hadn’t had.

 _“I hear the sounds of battle outside. Why are you here instead? Don’t tell me…”_ The dragon purred. _“Were your noble friends the ones who wounded you? Did they turn on you as I said they would?”_

 _“It wasn’t them!”_ Bilbo shouted upwards. Thorin could almost imagine that he saw the gleam of fire-yellow eyes far above him, narrowed in amusement. _“Please, I need your help! There are goblins and orcs at the gate and at any moment they might break in!”_

There was a huffing sound. _“What do I have to gain from rousing myself? As long as I am here, they will not take the mountain. Stay here with me, Summer Creature. You have nothing to fear as long as you stay near my claws.”_

 _“But they’ll kill everyone else!”_ Bilbo wailed. _“And I can’t let that happen! For the sake of your lives and the lives of your children, please help us! I’ll do anything.”_

It was sickening to watch Bilbo pleading with the dragon, as Thorin himself had done not long ago. Where Smaug had laughed at Thorin and taunted him, he had actively extended his protection to Bilbo and the hobbit had not taken it. He could have survived them all with Smaug’s help, but still he begged for their lives to be spared.

 _“Anything?”_ Smaug asked.

 _“Anything,”_ Bilbo repeated. _“As long as it is in my power to do it.”_ Thorin was close enough that he could see Bilbo’s hands beginning to tremble as his wound steadily weakened him. Blood trickled from his side and dripped from the bottom of his trousers to the ground, where it shone wetly.

Smaug made a terrible rumbling noise as his bulk shifted. _“So be it. In the name of a to-be-decided favor and to repay the lives you have already spared, I will go to your battle. Do not make me regret extending you this honor, Summer Creature.”_

_“You won’t. I promise.”_

There was no rose petal this time. Thorin looked around wildly as Bilbo dissolved. Had it been stolen away by something unseen or –

“No!” He gasped, nearly dropping both the lantern and the rose when he saw the figure crumpled not far behind him. Unlike the others, this one did not glow with any inner light to guide him to it. Thorin ran to its side and the lantern clattered away as he released it, rolling over again and again before coming to rest on its side. The dragon columns hissed their displeasure with a sound like raindrops on still-smoking logs. “Bilbo! Speak to me, _âzyungâluh._ Don’t be – please – not here in this place, after you’ve done so much.”

There was no reply. Bilbo lay on his side, completely still. His arms were tucked tightly up against his front as if he had been trying to shield himself from the cold. His eyes were closed. There was nothing to comfort him where he had died. He had never known if Smaug had been in time to save any of them. He had been alone, Ori wrote in his journal, by the wreckage of the gates and nearly buried by the snow. They hadn’t found him for hours.

 _“Oh, Bilbo…”_ Gandalf’s voice was soft and sad. _“You always were too much like your mother. Too brave and too willing to die for those you love.”_

 _“What else is worth dying for?”_ Bilbo spoke without opening his eyes. _“If not this, then what?”_

“This is worth _living_ for, _âzyungâluh!”_ Thorin sobbed, tears openly pouring down his cheeks. “Why did you go where I could not follow?”

The still body opened its eyes just a little and Thorin cringed when he saw that they were glazed and milky. _“You did follow, though. To a place you were never meant to be. Why?”_

“I left too many things unsaid.”

_“So say them.”_

The last petal was small and as soft as silk. Thorin had to curl it with his fingers to fit in into the middle of the rose. Finally it was complete. The stem was green and healthy and each thorn was tipped with a drop of his blood, drawn from his palm and fingertips as he worked to restore it. He could not tear his eyes away from it as he fumbled for the lantern and raised it high again. No sparks came from it to lead him – the thing had gone practically dormant. Even the song of the Arkenstone had become muted and out of tune.

There was the smell of grass after a summer storm, fresh and crisp, and a firefly drifted by. It was followed by another, and then a third, and the third stopped for a moment on the rose before joining its fellows in their meandering flight. They didn’t have far to go.

Thorin cautiously approached the figure sitting on the bench, facing away from him. Was it another memory that would vanish when it had said its piece? This seemed different though. He could see the bench they were seated upon, as well as some of the long grass and stone underneath it. The fireflies hovered lazily around them, neither landing nor moving on. Ever so slowly, in case his presence was not welcome, Thorin edged around the bench and slowly lowered himself down to sit next to the hobbit. The lantern he set on the ground between his feet, the rose he hesitantly reached out to offer to his companion.

“This is yours.”

A small hand, gnarled and spotted with advanced age, reached out and accepted it from him. Bilbo’s skin was so thin that it was nearly transparent and his face was a wreath of wrinkles. His hair, what was left of it, was snowy white and fragile-looking. There was a shawl wrapped around his thin shoulders and it looked like it was the only thing holding the old hobbit together. Shaking fingers felt out the stem of the rose and skated over the thorns. Thorin thought for a moment to warn him of their sharpness, but somehow he knew that they would not prick him. Their bite had been reserved for Thorin alone.

“It’s very rude,” Bilbo said, “to wake someone when they’re resting.” His voice was weak and halting, as though it was an effort to form words.

“I’ve never been one for good manners, I’m afraid.” Thorin licked his suddenly dry lips. “I have too little patience.”

“This is true, though a lack of patience is one of the least of your faults.” Bilbo’s fingers traced the edges of the rose and as they did they seemed to grow a little less stiff.

“I’ve come to realize that.”

“I was busy, you know,” the hobbit scolded him and Thorin ducked his head. “Very busy. You have a dratted big mountain and fixing all of that damage from dragon fire took a lot out of me. It didn’t help that you kept sticking glass into the ground where I wanted lilies. Glass! You dwarves really don’t have an ounce of gardening sense between the lot of you.”

“I thought – “

“No, I don’t think you did or else you would have left me to my work.” A bit of color was flooding back into the old hobbits face as he turned the rose back and forth between his hands. The veins there had sunk back down and they were looking younger with every passing second. “Now say your piece and go back to being king so that I can get on with being flowers. It’s less stressful than being a hobbit.”

“I’m not a king,” Thorin said. “Or at least not anymore.”

“What?” Bilbo turned to look at him and Thorin could see a spark kindling behind his eyes. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re the king. We won back the mountain, didn’t we? Did Smaug chase you out? Ooh, I’m going to haunt that fat lizard if he – “

“He didn’t,” Thorin hastily interrupted. The lantern between his feet shone brightly for a moment and spat out a puff of oily smoke. “His eggs hatch though.”

“Did they? I wanted to see that. What did they look like? Could they speak? Did they breathe fire?”

An idea began to take shape in Thorin’s mind. It wasn’t a full idea, just the barest beginnings of one, but he seized it with both hands and held tightly to it. “They were as big as wargs. Two of them were red and one was white and they made noises like lizard-birds. Smaug was keeping them warm in his mouth.”

“In his mouth? What an idea. I suppose it would have more than enough space for them – don’t you try to distract me, Thorin Oakenshield! What do you mean you aren’t King anymore?” Bilbo shook the rose at him and Thorin winced, but none of the carefully collected petals fell off.

“I’m giving up the crown. Bilbo, I’m a terrible king. I couldn’t – I didn’t move on well after the battle. Dain and Dis handle most of the politics of Erebor now and I feel more like a figurehead than anything else. I decided to give up my crown to Dain. He’ll be a much better king than I would. He knows how to rule in peace, while I only ever learned how to lead in times of war or hardship.”

“You – what – _why?!_ This is exactly what happened last time! Dain ruled the mountain and you were dead and Fili and Kili were – “ Bilbo pulled at his hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the rose and Thorin saw that it was growing back rapidly and turning honey-colored at the roots.

“I know, _âzyungâluh._ It is for the best, though. The Valar have shown me that Dain will be a better and wiser king than I could have ever been and I have made peace with that.” He fiddled with the handle of the lantern. “I thought I might travel west again. Perhaps I will visit the Shire for a while and see the nephew you told me so much about. It sounds like he takes after you.”

“Frodo? Goodness, he hasn’t even been born yet. His parents were still courting when we first left – we saw them when we passed through Bree. I think it will be a while yet before they marry and start thinking about having fauntlings.”

“Didn’t you raise him?” Thorin asked.

“I did, yes,” Bilbo agreed. “After his parents drowned he came to live with me – oh drat. I hope he doesn’t end up with Lobelia if that happens again. She’ll ruin him completely and he was the only one who ever showed any sort of spark. She’ll squash that right out of him.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and fell to muttering some very unflattering things under his breath. Thorin couldn’t help but smile. Here, sitting next to Bilbo as he watched the years fall away from him, he felt as though no time at all had passed since they had last sat together. Sadly Bilbo caught him smiling and Thorin’s breath whooshed out of him as an elbow was shoved into his side. “Stop smiling! This is serious. I’m _dead,_ Thorin. And you’re here where you shouldn’t be and Lobelia is going to ruin everything and I’m wrapped up in flowers! For goodness sake, I thought I was done troubling myself with you lot and now you have to come and wake me up again. You had better not be here to apologize, because if you are I’m going to wallop you.”

“No no, Bilbo – “He leaned back to avoid another elbow and caught Bilbo by his wrist to stop any further abuse. “Bilbo!” He shouted and the hobbit looked mutinous as he tried to pull his hand back. “I love you! Stop trying to bruise my ribs!”

“You _loved_ me! Of all the nerve -”

“I didn’t say loved, I said love! I don’t care if you aren’t by my side so that I can say it to you twelve times a day. I still do and I always will, until all of my hair is white and I’m as deaf as a post - I miss you like air, you confounded hobbit. I had to say it once; I had to make sure that you knew before I could even think about letting you go. I know it’s too late to make any difference and I’ll regret for the rest of my life that I didn’t say it sooner, but I just wanted you to hear it from me. I love you, Bilbo Baggins. You are the bravest, most noble soul I have ever met and you saved us all.”

Bilbo’s cheeks flushed pink. He now looked nearly the same age as he’d been the last time Thorin had seen him alive. “You locked me up,” he accused.

“I did. You found a way out.”

“You were going to have me punished for treason!”

“Treason that saved Erebor. I have no excuses for how I behaved – my mind was addled by fear and pain and I lashed out. It was inexcusable. Now I think that the worst I could ever do to you would be to turn you over my knee.”

Bilbo went even redder and he twisted his wrist in Thorin’s grasp. “Don’t you try to joke with me, Thorin. This is a serious matter. I should hate you for what you did.”

“Do you?” Thorin asked softly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, but it won’t change how I feel for you.”

Silence.

“No. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever could even if I wanted to. You have a place in here…” He touched his chest over his heart with the rose. “And I can’t keep you out. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to fade. I was selfish and didn’t want to give you up completely.”

“And I couldn’t let you go. I won’t ever.”

The relief that washed through Thorin when Bilbo tilted sideways until he was leaning against Thorin’s chest was so overwhelming that it was nearly painful. Quickly he released Bilbo’s wrist and wrapped both arms around his hobbit to keep him close. He was so warm…

“What would you do without me?” Bilbo mumbled, rubbing his nose back and forth against Thorin’s arm.

“I would be a miserable old dwarf who lived alone and growled at anyone who came calling.”

There was a quiet laugh from Bilbo, but it faded quickly. “I don’t know if I can go back, Thorin. Even if I wanted to, I feel like a broken thing just barely held together. The second you go I’m going to scatter back to the flowers and I don’t think anything will be able to put me back together again. I’m just a ghost here.”

“Then I’ll stay here with you as long as I can.” There was nothing left for him in Erebor that could tempt him away from this dark place as long as he could stay with Bilbo.

“You can’t,” the hobbit argued, pulling back enough that he could look up into Thorin’s face. “I don’t know what will happen to you if you stay here for too long, but since you’re still alive I don’t think it will be anything good. I don’t want you to end up scattered like me, Thorin. You have to go.”

“Not without you,” Thorin insisted. “I love you. I thought I could come here and tell you and then let you go again, but I can’t. I wasn’t there when you died, or when you needed me the most. I failed you at every turn, but I won’t leave you here in this cold place to be pulled into pieces by yourself. You can’t ask me to leave you.”

“I don’t have the power to come with you, Thorin. I’m too weak now.”

_It takes a powerful magic to revive a spirit…_

Thorin’s eyes drifted down to the lantern that sat between his feet. A powerful magic. The lantern had guided him to Bilbo’s memories, but had that ever been its true purpose? As if in a trance, Thorin released Bilbo and leaned down to collect it.

“Thorin? What is that?” Bilbo asked curiously, peering around his arm to get a better look at the Arkenstone. “Is that – “

“Mahal made it for me, so that I could find you. Smaug released the Arkenstone and all of the magic in it to me and Mahal gave it this form. The dragon said that it was to repay the debt he owes you.”

Bilbo’s eyes reflected the yellow glow of the jewel that hung suspended inside the lantern. “Thorin,” he said warningly. “That’s dragon magic. It isn’t like Gandalf’s, or anyone else’s. Do you know what it might do?”

“It might bring you back. Take it, Bilbo. Please.” He held out the lantern, but Bilbo shied away from it as if it was hot.

“What if – what if it changes me, Thorin? What if it makes me horrible like Smaug is? What if nothing happens at all and you’ve gotten your hopes up for nothing?”

“You could never be horrible. You’re far too good to be like Smaug. Too good for me, for certain.” He caught Bilbo by his silly little tie and pulled him forward into a kiss. It was sweet and soft, but there was the underlying air of desperation.

When they parted for breath, Bilbo leaned forward and touched his forehead to Thorin’s, looking down at the lantern between them. “I don’t think things will ever be the same if I take this, Thorin. I don’t know what will happen and that scares me a little.”

“Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. I will live with whatever you choose, _âzyungâluh, w_ hether it’s to scatter back to your flowers or to come back to this old, bitter dwarrow.”

Bilbo laughed. “You aren’t that old.”

“I noticed that you aren’t arguing with the ‘bitter’ part.”

“Well…”

They both smiled at each other and something fell into place, like the last piece of a puzzle that had been missing for years.

“Don’t be late?” Bilbo reached for the lantern’s heart and yellow dragon magic began to flow out of it, wrapping around his fingers.

“I won’t be, if I know you’re waiting for me.”

Bilbo bit his bottom lip and nodded once before he seized the Arkenstone. The moment he touched it, the jewel exploded with a sound like thunder and out of it came a drake made of fire. It rose above them both and then plunged down at Bilbo, pouring into his eyes and mouth, filling him with light. In the next heartbeat he was gone, both the lantern and the rose had gone with him. Thorin was left alone and the darkness swallowed him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.  
> Thanks to Val and Mel for helping me out when I was stuck on this one.


	69. Keep a Steady Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

“It was nice, as far as funerals go.”

“How would you know? You couldn’t see it.”

“Between Nori keepin’ up a runnin’ chatter about who all was there and what jewels they were wearin’, and th’ music and th’ speeches, I got a pretty good idea.”

Thorin laughed. It was a rough, rusty sound. “It sounds like one that I won’t regret missing.”

“Dori said somethin’ about it bein’ tacky not to attend your own entombin’ and Ori started laughin’ right in th’ middle a’everythin’. Nearly got th’ lot of us tossed right outta th’ hall cause that started the’ rest of us laughin’ too. Ruined the mood a wee bit.” Dwalin grinned and crossed his arms, the breeze coming through the open front gates ruffling his beard and mustache. There were three rings on his fingers instead of his knuckle dusters and engagement beads braided into his beard. He seemed satisfied to Thorin’s eyes. Erebor had been good to him.

Dwalin may have lost his eyes, but the mountain had helped him discover something to replace them. It seemed obvious that Dwalin would be predisposed to powerful steel sense. Miners often had the same thing with stone, but Dwalin had always had an affinity for metal. He’s always known which were the best weapons that wouldn’t fracture and which were the purest ingots to craft with. Now he used that same sense to navigate his way around the mountain with Dunin at his side, always knowing who was coming and going by the weapons they carried on their belts. It made him a deadly foe, especially in the dark where his foes were limited by what they could see. Now with Nori bonded to him, Dwalin would be a nearly unstoppable force. Thorin only regretted that he wouldn’t be able to attend their wedding.

“Shouldn’t you be at the coronation?” Thorin asked. “You are the Captain of the Guard, after all.”

“Eh, I heard there was some wanderin’ smith who was makin’ a scene up in th’ front and came t’ investigate. Wouldn’t want Dain’s big moment t’ be ruined by a vagabond.”

“I’m not making a scene, you lump of loose gravel. You just didn’t want to stand through any more speeches.” Thorin leaned sideways and bumped Dwalin with his shoulder.

Dwalin stepped on his foot in return. “So what? Nobody’ll miss me and I got Wulf keepin’ an eye on things. Everybody’s too broken up about you dyin’ in that cave in t’ think about takin’ a shot at Dain right now. Big hero like you, finally winnin’ th’ mountain back and then goin’ and gettin’ your brains bashed in – well done. Bofur is still sighin’ over havin’ t’ bring down that part’a th’ mines for your little show, you know. Apparently there was a nice veins of sapphires down there and now no one’ll go down there again on account of it bein’ a king-killer shaft.”

“He has the rest of the mountain to mine; I think that he can forgive me one ruined sapphire shaft.”

Erebor had awoken the previous morning to a terrible rumble and the sound of screaming. Somewhere deep in the mines, the blast charges to clear bad stone had gone wrong. Too much powder in the wrong place and the entire sapphire shaft had come tumbling down and killed Thorin Oakenshield, who had been passing through and inspecting the new shaft personally. His body had been so thoroughly buried that there was no chance he could have survived and it had been decided that his corpse wouldn’t be retrieved. The mountain where he had been born was also now his tomb and the stone had reclaimed another one of its children.

Erebor had been plunged into a state of deep mourning. With no body to bury, Thorin’s crown (which had been left with Gloin to be polished) had been symbolically placed in his tomb. It now lay next to the tombs of Fili and Kili in a small chamber, one among dozens of royalty who had died before them. It was a poor end for such a valiant king and so was it commented more than once during the funeral. All of Thorin’s flaws seemed to fall away after his death and few would speak of his deep depression or of how fiercely the gold sickness had affected him. They only spoke of his great deeds and brave heart and that was how he would be remembered in the years to come.

It was also said once or twice that the hobbit who had stood with him should be dug up and reburied next to him, but it was the strangest thing – when a group of dwarrows went out to do just that they could find no sign of the hobbit’s little grave on the mountainside. The marker stone had been swallowed up by flowers and completely vanished, and though they waded through them for several hours they found no sign of it. They took it as a sign that Bilbo was perfectly content to stay where he was and no one else made any mention of moving him after that.

“So what now?” Dwalin asked. “You’ve hardly breathed a word about what you’re doing ‘cept that you’re goin’ west.”

“That’s what I intend to do, as soon as Gandalf is finished crowning Dain. He’ll be a good king,” he added when Dwalin made a derogatory noise. “Shriek is coming with me. I’ll stay in contact.” The raven was currently perched on the mane of the pony standing nearby, its back laden with Thorin’s things. She was busily undoing all of the braids Dis had woven into the beast’s mane and was clearly eager to be on their way.

“Oh aye, and we’ll know right where t’ send the reply.”

“Will you now?”

“Come off it, Thorin. That funeral shroud has come off your shoulders; I can hear it in your voice. I don’t know what deal you made with what powers, but it did somethin’ good for you. If any of us is ever passin’ through the Shire, we’ll be sure t’ come callin’.”

Thorin was silent for a moment. “I hope that there will be someone to answer the door if you do.”

Dwalin hand found his shoulder and squeezed. “There will be. Keep a steady heart.”  

“And so it is done.” Gandalf came up behind them, leaning on his wooden staff with his hat clutched in his other hand. “Dain is king of Erebor and Thorin Oakenshield is dead and buried. I do hope you aren’t having second thoughts about any of this, because I’m afraid they’ll be a little bit late. Everyone is celebrating now, so I think that we had best be on our way before the revelry spills out into the front hall.”

“No, no second thoughts,” Thorin replied, covering Dwalin’s hand with his own for a moment. “Just regret that I could not do this sooner. My stubbornness brought everyone pain and now the only way I can mend it is with my departure.”

“That isn’t true,” Dwalin growled.

“I cannot stay,” Thorin said. “This cannot be my home, not with everything that has transpired. My nephew’s tombs, Smaug, and I can still feel the gold sickness wearing away at me even though I’ve built up barriers against it made of pain. Dwalin,” he said softly, “you are the brother of my heart.”

Dwalin seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, but then he bowed his head. “I would have followed you into death.”

“I would rather you find your own way to life.”

“Are you ready?” Gandalf asked gently.

Thorin looked back and saw the rest of his Company assembled not far away, and Dis with them, in front of the stature of Smaug and Bilbo. They were dressed in their court finery, bedecked in gold and jewels and fine fabrics. All of them looked hearty and hale despite the wounds they had received following him into the heart of battle. Brother stood with brother, and all of them friends together, united in the experiences they had shared. Some openly wept, while others were making a valiant effort to hold back their tears.

Thorin nodded at them. He was not a king now. He had no grand speeches to make, nor honors to bestow, and yet they bowed to him as if he were the greatest ruler they had ever had. He had brought them all on a suicidal mission – dragged them from the safety of their homes and their lives into the unknown and never had their loyalty wavered. Their very lives they had lain down for him and now, though they followed a new king, they had all assembled to see him go.

“Yes,” he finally said. “I’m ready.”

And so Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, left the mountain behind and never again did he pass through its gates as long as he lived. Instead his eyes turned westward and for the first time in three long years, there was hope in his heart and a smile upon his lips.


	70. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags: N/A

It was a slow awakening, one that started with the pleasant warmth of sunshine on his face and the lingering taste of something sweet in his mouth. Maybe apples. It faded the moment he tried to identify it but managed to bring him closer to wakefulness.

He stretched, tensing his whole body without moving a single finger or opening his eyes, and then relaxed again like a bag that all of the grain had been let out of. There was honeysuckle climbing up the wall behind him – he could feel it just barely tickling his neck over the top of his collar, smelling fresh and clean.

It was autumn and the air was filled with the sounds of bees and laughter as people went about their business, gossiping and doing laundry and pulling carts filled with apples and pumpkins back from the orchards. Pies cooled on windowsills. Children shrieked as they caught frogs in the grass down by the book and stuffed them into watering cans to bring home. Down the hill underneath the Party Tree someone was organizing the set-up of a series of oversized white tents. Tonight heralded the start of the harvest fair and hobbits were coming in from far and wide to attend, packing up their livestock and their children and coming down in brightly colored wagons pulled by ponies and mules. There would be pie-baking contests and pig racing and prizes awarded for the best produce. It would last for a full week and by the end of it everyone would be so full of good food and drink that they wouldn’t get any work done for three more days.

Gandalf would come and set off fireworks.

It had been almost half a year since the spring morning the Shire had woken up to find that the windows of Bag End had been flung open and all of the rugs and linens had been tossed up onto the grass above the manor to air out.

‘Haunted’, some had claimed and refused to go near the place until Hamfast Gamgee had finally clamped his pipe firmly between his teeth and trundled up the road to see who was causing such a fuss in Mister Baggins’ lovely home. What he’d found was Bilbo Baggins himself, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a bandana tied around his face while he dusted the top shelves of his bookcase. There were golden pendants hanging from his ears and one of his feet was horribly scarred as if it had been chewed on by some great beast.

“Got a bit dusty, didn’t it?” Bilbo had called down when he noticed that he had company.

“Aye, a wee bit. That’ll happen when no one’s been around for four years to keep it clean, but at least we kept Lobelia out. Threw a fit about that, she did. Need a hand?”

“Four years? I suppose time flies when you aren’t paying attention. Hand me that cloth, would you?”

And that had been that.

Of course there had still been those who claimed that Bilbo’s entire reappearance was an elaborate trick since no one had seen him come back, not even the Night Watch, but the days turned into weeks and by the time summer rolled around most of the Shire was convinced that Bilbo had simply had a rather extensive adventure and slipped back home while no one was looking. Those who came to came to call found him much changed from how he had been before he departed – Bilbo had been an exceptionally ordinary hobbit. Not overly fond of travel or strangers or unexpected guests. Now he was practically the opposite. Any ranger that passed through was welcomed in and pressed for news of their travels. Those who were brave enough to come by for tea described him as a ‘rather cheerful sort’, though a bit prone to trailing off midsentence to look out the window as if he were waiting for something to happen.

The children loved him even if some of their parents were still wary. More than one meal was passed on Bilbo’s lawn with a parcel of fauntlings happily munching on muffins or tea cakes as they listened to Bilbo tell them about running from trolls or escaping from goblins in tunnels underneath the Misty Mountains. He also blew the best smoke rings and could make it drift out of his nose. The best part was that he could do it with no pipe for the smoke to come from and Lily Took swore up and down that his eyes turned yellow sometimes when he told them stories about dragons. Since Lily was only five no one put much stock in her claims (or believed that Bilbo had actually encountered a dragon) and they passed it off as a trick of the light. Smoke and yellow eyes aside, Bilbo was still a very odd hobbit now with his earrings and old eyes and his multitude of scars. Some said that he should have just stayed wherever he had been for the last four years and not caused such a stir with his return, but those folk were quickly silenced with cuffs to the back of their heads. Bilbo Baggins came from a perfectly respectable family and it was better to have a Baggins in Bag End than to have it sit empty until the hill caved in, even if the Baggins in question was a bit eccentric.

He’d brought little with him back from his travels beyond his sword and a little ring that he kept in an envelope underneath the clock on the mantle. There were rumors of a pretty silver shirt that he kept in a box in his study, but no one really wanted to rifle around in Bilbo’s things to get a look for themselves. There was no telling what they would find that was dangerous or magical.

A lonely smoke ring trailed up and across the lane, heading for the green field and the party tents. The sun had begun to drop behind the wispy clouds spotting the horizon, casting everything in pink and yellow dusk hues. A raven swooped down from somewhere and flew right through the ring, dispersing it.

“Again!” It squawked as it settled itself on the fence.

“If a wizard is never late, he must plan on arriving in the morning and being on time for breakfast rather than supper. Ha! Never late indeed.” Bilbo blew another smoke ring for the raven, but it didn’t seem interested.

Next to him lay a partially folded letter, penned in an elegant (and rather ostentatious) hand, stating the intent of the writer to arrive ‘on the evening of the first day of the Autumn Fair’. So rather than being able to go down a visit with the other party-goers, Bilbo had been left to linger and smoke on his front bench while the rest of his neighbors ate and drank to their heart’s content underneath the Party Tree and celebrated the beginning of harvest season.

It wasn’t until the sun had nearly set and the first of the fireflies had come out to dance that Bilbo finally spotted a cloaked figure, far too short to be the expected wizard, coming around the bend.

“Probably one of the Hardfasts or Longfoots come to laugh at me for waiting out front,” he murmured to himself. In actuality it was no doubt Ham come to bring him a drink or two and keep him company until Gandalf arrived.

It was not Ham.

The figure paused at the foot of the path up to Bag End; a gloved had resting on top of the gate as if they were hesitant to push it open.

“It’s open!” Bilbo called down and he uncrossed his ankles so that he could lean forward a little bit, his heart suddenly racing.

As if Bilbo’s voice had startled them, the person jolted hard and the gate was flung open as they leaned forward on it. In between one heartbeat and the next they had made it up the footpath and stood frozen before Bilbo, breathing as if they had just run all the way from Erebor. Maybe they had.

“Good evening,” Bilbo said, setting his pipe down on the bench next to him. “You’re late.”

“Good – What – I didn’t think – “ Words seemed to fail Thorin and he trailed off, pushing back the hood of his blue traveling cloak. Thorin Oakenshield had aged since Bilbo had seen him last, carving his way towards Azog with blood on his face and battle fury in his eyes. There was more white in his hair – it decorated his beard and the thin braids at his temples. There were also more lines on his face and heavy purple bruises under both of his eyes, though those would no doubt fade with enough rest. Everything else was achingly familiar.

“You rarely do, but I usually forgive you for it.”

That startled a barking laugh out of Thorin and he took a half step closer. His eyes feasted on Bilbo and his pale blue vest, taking him in as if he was dying of thirst and Bilbo was the last oasis left in the desert. Yet even with this he seemed hesitant to reach out to touch him. “The trip took longer than I expected. Gandalf had to stop and visit with every settlement we passed through and there was an issue with giants on the high road through the – “

“Through the Misty Mountains? I should have guessed. One of these days someone is going to have to build a proper road through there. It just isn’t safe.” He tapped his pipe against his heel to knock the spent tobacco out of it and then looked back up at Thorin. “So what do we do now?”

Thorin swallowed hard. “I had not thought quite this far ahead. I just wanted – if you were here – I have nothing to give you,” he said in a rush. “I brought no gold or jewels, only what clothes and tools would fit on the back of my pony.”

“And a raven?” Bilbo prompted, glancing towards the bird on his fence.

“Shriek. She won’t be any trouble.”

“I don’t recall being in the market for a wandering dwarrow, you know,” Bilbo teased. “I hear that they’ll eat you out of house and home and they track mud in everywhere.”

“We’re also very good at fixing broken things and making new ones if the old can’t be salvaged,” Thorin said softly.

Bilbo tilted his head. “Do you think you’ll find many broken things here?”

“No. Just what I brought with me.”

“You had the mountain, you know. You fought so hard for it – it was your home.”

Thorin looked down. There were no rings on his fingers for him to twist, so he rubbed the pale skin where they had once rested. “It wasn’t home. It was only ever a mountain and I gave it up. All of the gold in Erebor meant nothing to me without you there to share it with.”

It only took a touch – the barest brush of Bilbo’s fingers across the back of Thorin’s hand – to shatter him. With a broken sound, Thorin sank to his knees in front of the bench and leaned forward, his arms wrapping tight as steel around the hobbit’s middle as he buried his face in Bilbo’s lap. He was trembling like a fragile tree in a hurricane.

After a moment two small hands settled on Thorin’s head, twisting his braids between calloused fingers and rubbing them fondly.

“Silly old dwarf. I suppose I’ll have to keep you.” It was so easy to lean down and press his lips to Thorin’s hair, breathing him in. Finally, after so long, everything was right again. Down by the Party Tree, the first firework shot into the air and exploded in a shower of blue and gold.

“Welcome home.”

**The End**

****

Art by [maura-labingi](http://maura-labingi.tumblr.com/post/111791190767/it-only-took-a-touch-the-barest-brush-of-bilbos/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends. I'd like to thank each and every one of you for taking this journey with me, from those who followed An Expected Journey from the first chapter to those who read the whole thing in three days. Without your continuing support and encouragement I'm not sure that I could have ever finished this project. Specific thanks to Mel, Val, TS, Jean, and my sister Sarah who got to listen to the brunt of my whining when I was stuck or needed help.
> 
> This may have been my first fan fiction, but it won't be my last! So let us not say farewell (since that is far too permanent), but rather goodbye! You'll be seeing me again soon. 
> 
> If you would like to find me and my art and writing updates, I encourage you to check out my Tumblr [here.](http://mariejacquelyn.tumblr.com/) I'm always around.
> 
> Cheers everyone!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Memories and Nightmares](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126059) by [bump_in_the_dark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bump_in_the_dark/pseuds/bump_in_the_dark)
  * [Scatha](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561661) by [Thorinsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut)




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